


Houses of the Holy

by njgirl0976



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, Family Dynamic, First Love, High School, Loss of Virginity, Religion, Slow Burn, Supernatural AU - Freeform, absent father, single mother
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2015-04-13
Packaged: 2018-02-09 11:29:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 50
Words: 96,566
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1981242
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/njgirl0976/pseuds/njgirl0976
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chicagoan Mary Winchester moves herself and her two sons, Sam and Dean, to a small Kentucky town to start over. Sam doesn't seem to be terribly worried about the change, but Dean is dead-set against the new environment until he meets innocent Mary Martha Weber, the daughter of the strict religious family across the street. Dean and Mary Martha start a romance that not only defies her family, but also the sensibilities of their entire community.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Mary Martha Weber sat on the front porch of her parents’ home, trying to hold still. The heat of a July mid-morning in Kentucky can be oppressive, but if you didn’t move around a lot, you didn’t sweat as much. But, as Mary Martha’s mama liked to remind her, ladies did not sweat.

 _Tell that to my back,_ Mary Martha thought bitterly. If only her mama would let her go over to Ruby’s house to swim, but Ruby’s skirt at Sunday service had been too short for Mary Martha’s mama’s sensibilities, so Ruby was a no-go for a while.

Sighing, Mary Martha used her church fan to swirl a little cool air around her face. The house was air conditioned, of course, but Mary Martha’s daddy had insisted she head outside after lunch to get some fresh air. The last thing Mary Martha wanted was fresh air versus cold air, but what Daddy said went. No questions asked.

Pushing the porch swing lazily with one toe, Mary Martha arranged her skirt over her legs. She would give anything to be able to put on a pair of shorts and a tank top, but it was The Lord’s day, which meant she stayed dressed up until bedtime. Looking over the sleepy street in front of her, Mary Martha wondered what could possibly be going on in the outside world.

The sound of a large engine coming up the quiet road made Mary Martha jerk her head up. What could that be? Through the tree-lined street, Mary Martha could make out the boxy shape of a UHaul truck.

“Oh, my goodness,” she whispered. “They’re here.” Leaping to her feet, Mary Martha burst into the front hall of the rambling old house that had been in her family for 70 years. “Mama! Daddy! They’re here! The new neighbors!”

Mary Martha’s mama, Deborah, came out of the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel.

“Mary Martha Weber,” she scolded. “Ladies do not shout.”

“Ladies shout if new neighbors move in.” Mary Martha’s daddy, James, came out of the sitting room where he was most likely reading the Sunday paper and shaking his head over the world’s state of affairs.

“I saw a moving truck.” Mary Martha practically panted with excitement. No one had moved in or out of their small town in nearly 3 years. This was huge news.

Deborah gave Mary Martha a small frown. The frown conveyed every single disapproving thing Deborah thought Mary Martha was guilty of at the moment. Mary Martha controlled herself quickly and then followed her parents out the front door.

The UHaul truck was parking awkwardly in front of the large, faded yellow colonial house from the Weber’s trim home. No one had lived in the colonial since the former owners were moved to an old folks’ home by their children. Ruby and Mary Martha spent hours speculating over who could possibly want to live in their boring little town. Well, in a few minutes, Mary Martha was going to find out.

 _new neighbors moving in!!! :O_ Mary Martha texted to Ruby.

 _today!?!?!?_ Ruby texted back. _i’m coming over!!!_

 _NO!!! mama’s mad about your skirt. i’ll tell you everything later._ Mary Martha texted.

 _your moms an idiot,_ Ruby texted. _whatever._

The UHaul came to a stop and jerked into park. It was half on the lawn, half on the street. Both doors opened and the Webers could hear two people laughing.

“You park like crap, Mom,” said a young man’s voice.

“Shut up, Sam,” an older woman’s voice replied. “You try driving this thing from Chicago.”

“You should have let Dean drive for a while,” the young man suggested, coming around the truck to stand on the driver’s side next to an attractive blonde woman.

“Oh, no.” The woman looked up at the incredibly tall teenager next to her. “Your brother would have turned the truck right back up 41 and headed home.”  
  
“Can you blame him?” the boy asked.

The woman laid her hand on his arm. “Not at all. But don’t tell him I said that.” She turned around and glared down the street. “God, where’s your brother? I’ll kill him if he turned around.”

The teenage boy shook his head. “You know he wouldn’t do that.”

Together, the woman and her son moved to the back of the truck to start unpacking.

“We should go introduce ourselves,” Deborah said but didn’t move.

“Let’s go then,” Mary Martha agreed but she wasn’t moving unless one of her parents did first.

James was the first one to head down the sidewalk to the waist-high fence surrounding the front yard. He was about to open the gate when the ear shattering roar of an approaching motor stopped him in his tracks.

Coming up the street was a long, lean, black car. The driver had one arm out the window and Mary Martha could hear the rock music pounding out of its speakers a block away. James and Deborah Weber watched in horror as the black car pulled up behind the UHaul truck. The driver of the car didn’t get out right away, or even turn the car off, but instead sat in the driver’s seat, watching the woman and her son try to unhitch a modest sedan from the car tow dolly. The rock music screamed its anthem across the street and assaulted Mary Martha’s ears. Deborah and James exchanged very quick, very worried looks.

“Dean! Get out here and help us!” the woman yelled to the driver of the black car.

Mary Martha watched at the driver--Dean--dropped his chin to his chest before turning off his car and getting out. One long leg came out of the open driver’s side door first as one arm reached over his head to grab the edge of the roof of the car and help haul himself to a standing position. Standing next to the open door, Dean stretched his long body this way and that to work off the stiffness of the road.

“Mary Martha--” Deborah said suddenly, turning to her spellbound 17 year old daughter.

Mary Martha didn’t move. She couldn’t move. She watched as the boy, no older than herself maybe, moved toward his mother and brother with the easy grace of someone very comfortable in their skin. His long, sinewy arms and legs practically screamed masculine confidence. Mary Martha memorized his outfit to report to Ruby later: jeans, black work boots, a faded black rock band tee shirt.

“Oh, dear me,” Deborah murmured, looking at Mary Martha again.

“Come on, Deborah,” James ordered. “We’ll greet our new neighbors.” Mary Martha made to walk over with them. James laid one finger on her shoulder. “You will stay here.”

“But, Daddy--” Mary Martha began to protest.

One glare from her father silenced Mary Martha and she waited behind the white wooden fence while her parents slapped on their best church smiles and went across the street.

The new neighbors stopped working when they saw the Webers approaching. Each of them wore wary smiles like they weren’t used to people crossing roads to say hello.

“Hi there now,” James Weber said heartily and Mary Martha groaned inwardly. It was his ‘hail fellow and well met’ voice. So phony. “I’m James Weber and this is my wife Deborah.”

“Hi!” Deborah waved from her spot slightly behind James.

“We live _just_ over there.” James made it sound like their house was blocks away instead of across the street. “Welcome to the neighborhood!”

The woman looked a little stunned at the super cheerful greeting as her sons exchanged identical arched eyebrows at each other.

“Uh … hi. I’m Mary Winchester,” the woman replied. “These are my sons Sam”--Sam, the first boy, the very tall one, stuck out his hand to shake James’--“and Dean.”

Dean, the second boy, the driver of the long black car, didn’t move forward to take James’ pro-offered handshake, but stayed by the tow dolly, arms crossed over his chest. James’ smile faltered for only a second before he turned his attention back to Mary Winchester.

“So, where you folks from?” James asked next.

“Chicago,” Sam replied. He had longish brown hair that fell over his forehead and ears, but didn’t touch his collar, a sin in James Weber’s book of unspoken rules. Sam’s smile, even his uncertain one, could light up the noonday sky. He was tall and lanky, but with the promise that once his frame filled out, he’d be a mountain of a man.

“Well, well!” James said, hooking his thumbs through the belt loops on his khakis. “What brings you down here to Kentucky?”

“Highway 41,” Dean answered before his mother could.

“Dean,” Mary Winchester warned.

“Oh, he’s just tired from the drive.” Deborah made excuses for the new neighbor’s son. But Mary Martha knew that tone. That was the one Ruby called Deb’s Honey Over Acid Voice.

James pressed the issue of the Winchesters’ relocation again. Mary Martha could see Mary Winchester didn’t want to answer him, but her polite nature forced her to tell the Webers that she had accepted the job of head nurse at the new oncology ward. Deborah clasped her hands to her chest in glee.

“Oh, a _nurse_!” she trilled. “What a blessing you must be to patients!”

Mary Winchester looked flustered. “I guess.”

Sam Winchester had turned away from the adults by now and was busy unpacking the back of the moving van, making piles of boxes on the overgrown front lawn. Dean’s steady glare at the Webers finally melted the hospitality right out of them. James and Deborah Weber exchanged an uncertain glance as the three Winchesters waited for some kind of response.

“Well, I guess we’ll leave you to your unpacking.” James took Deborah’s elbow. “Feel free to come over if you need anything.”

“Is that your daughter?” Dean asked suddenly, pointed at Mary Martha without uncrossing his arms.

James narrowed his eyes for a split second before answering. “Yes. That’s our Mary Martha.”

Dean’s head barely turned, but Mary Martha felt his eyes rake over her from across the street. Dean flicked his glance back to James and Deborah, who suddenly looked terrified. He smiled unexpectedly. Mary Martha gasped and tightened her iron grip on the fence. When Dean Winchester smiled, his impassive face transformed into a thing of such beauty, Mary Martha was sure she’d seen the face of God in his grin.

“She looks nice,” Dean commented. Then he turned his head to look at Mary Martha directly. One of his hands raised in a negligent wave which Mary Martha couldn’t respond to because that would require she let go of the fence. If she let go of the fence, she was pretty sure she’d fall over. Dean's wide, blindingly white smile turned into a small, knowing smirk. He then turned back to a horrified James and Deborah Weber. “She’s looks _really_ nice.”

And, with that simple statement, Mary Martha Weber, who’d never thought an untoward thought in her entire 17 years, knew that--against her parents’ wishes, her friends’ wishes, Jesus’ wishes and maybe even her own wishes--Dean Winchester was the man she was going to fall madly in love with.


	2. Chapter 2

Mary Martha found herself elbow deep in a bowl, shelling peas, not long after meeting the Winchesters. James had insisted that Mary Martha come in out of the heat and help her mother with dinner even though dinner wasn’t for hours. Mary Martha was pretty sure that the real reason was the stunning Winchester boy who was currently unloading furniture from the moving van with his equally stunning brother.   
  
The last time Mary Martha had snuck a peek out the front picture window, both Winchester boys were shirtless and sweating while manhandling sofas and end tables across the front lawn of their new house. She wasn’t at the window for 30 seconds when Daddy caught her snooping and sent her upstairs to her room to read Ephesians 6:1-4 in her Bible.

_Bad idea, Daddy,_ Mary Martha thought as she sat at her window and gazed out over the street.

Dean and Sam Winchester were taking a break, leaning against the body of the long black car, drinking bottles of water. All the doors and windows of their new house were open and Mary Martha could hear rock music coming from inside. The boys seemed content to sit on the car all day, drinking water and talking, but Mary Winchester appeared in the front door and called them back to work. Leaping up, the boys sprang back into action. Mary Winchester watched them from the front porch for a moment, then headed back inside.

Mary Martha’s phone chimed out her text alert. It was Ruby.

i _’m riding by your house right now. are they there?_

_yes. they’re unpacking still._

_good._

_what are you doing??_

Ruby didn’t text back but, from her perch, Mary Martha saw Ruby stop right in front of the Winchesters’ house. She was on her bike (something Mary Martha hadn’t seen in years) and dressed in a top that would send Deborah into apoplectic fits. It didn’t take long for Sam and Dean to head over to Ruby. Ruby with her dark wavy hair and huge brown eyes and flirty smile and infectious laugh. She’d have them eating out of her hand in--Mary Martha watched as Sam Winchester suddenly threw his head back and laughed.

_That was quick,_ Mary Martha thought, smiling.

Mary Martha then watched in horror (and delight) as Ruby pointed at her house. Ruby looked up over her shoulder, caught a glimpse of Mary Martha and waved wildly. Sam and Dean both looked up and, panicked, Mary Martha dropped to her knees on the floor.

_Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no,_ Mary Martha freaked out. _I hope they didn’t see me._

Ruby was out there with the new neighbors, flirting, laughing, and making a spectacle of herself. Mary Martha knelt up and looked out the window again. Ruby and the guys were talking again, not looking up at her house. Ruby was flipping her dark hair back and forth over her shoulder. Sam Winchester looked enthralled by her; he couldn’t stop grinning. Even from behind, Mary Martha knew that Ruby was probably giving him that half-smile that Mama said screamed wantonness.

Dean Winchester seemed to have lost interest in Ruby and walked off to move some of the smaller boxes alone. Mary Martha stopped watching The Ruby and Sam Show to gaze exclusively at Dean Winchester. The elder Winchester was truly something to behold, with his tanned skin and muscular back. Mary Martha could feel a blush dripping down her face to her neck while she watched Dean carry boxes into the house. The sight of him tripping down the front porch steps while swiping sweat off his brow as his wet skin glistened in the blazing sun sent Mary Martha into a near-frantic texting fit.

_GET OVER HERE RIGHT NOW!!!11!1!_ was the message she sent to Ruby.

Ruby checked her phone, held up one finger to Sam, and trotted prettily across the road. Sam Winchester stared after her approvingly before Dean Winchester smacked him up the backside of the head, snapping the younger boy back to work.

The doorbell rang, sending Mary Martha down the stairs, practically screeching “I GOT IT!” before her parents could react. Yanking the door open, she had Ruby half-way up the steps as James came out of his study.

“Hi, Mr. Weber!” Ruby called, waving, as Mary Martha pulled her.

“Hello, Ruby,” James said evenly, then headed to the front door to close it. He saw the shirtless Winchester brothers (Sam waved at him cheerfully) and narrowed his eyes again. _I see,_ he thought. _I see indeed._

Behind Mary Martha’s closed bedroom door, in her sunny yellow room with the blue, white, and yellow flowered duvet and white oak furniture, under the yellow “Keep Calm and Trust Jesus” poster, Mary Martha clutched her best friend’s hands and asked, “Are they as gorgeous as I think they are? What do they smell like?”

“Mary Martha Weber!” Ruby’s dark eyes shone as the new-found audacity of her usually shy friend. “What kind of question is that?”

Mary Martha clapped her hands over her mouth. “Oh, my gosh. I can’t believe I said that.”

“I’m so glad you did,” Ruby teased. “They smell like soap and sweat and hot skin and boys. They smell like hot boys.”

Mary Martha glanced at the small, framed picture of Jesus next to the picture of her parents on her nightstand.

“I should not have said that,” Mary Martha said immediately.

“Of course you should have,” Ruby insisted. “You’re a 17 year old girl, not a nun in a convent. Heck, I think nuns in a convent would think those guys were hot.”

Mary Martha’s eyes flicked to her window. Ruby caught the look and grinned her Cheshire Cat grin.

“Want to go look again?” Ruby asked.

“Yes!” Mary Martha answered and the girls burst into hysterical giggles.

Looking out the window, still giggling. The UHaul truck was closed again and the boys were nowhere in sight. Disappointed, the girls sunk to the floor under the window and snuggled up to each other. Inseparable since kindergarten, you couldn’t find two girls more different: dark Ruby with her rebellious streak and ginger Mary Martha with her sweet nature. They’d always been that way, the yin and yang of friends, bringing out themselves in the other person.

“You seemed pretty into that Sam,” Mary Martha commented.

Ruby slipped off her flip-flops and curled her red painted toes into the plush throw rug. She smiled again, a little naughty but wistful too.

“He’s a cutie,” Ruby agreed. “You know he’s only 16? So young and so … _tall_.”

Mary Martha giggled, knowing “tall” was definitely not the word Ruby had meant to use. Ruby batted her lashes at Mary Martha.

“Think I’ll make a meal of that youngster,” Ruby teased her innocent friend.

“Ruby, you wouldn’t,” Mary Martha admonished, knowing that Ruby absolutely would.

Ruby shrugged, then turned her full attention to discussing the many beautiful bodily attributes of Sam Winchester, starting at his hair (“Longish and floppy. All I want to do is run my fingers through it) to his mouth (“Kissable!”) to his chest (“Oh … my … god. Seriously.”). She would have gone lower if Deborah hadn’t walked in without knocking.

“Oh, hello, Ruby,” Deborah said as if she didn’t know Ruby had been in the house for over an hour. “How are you?”

Ruby turned on the full wattage of her most sarcastic smile. “Hi, Mrs. Weber! I met your new neighbors. They seem … _nice_.”

Mary Martha’s face burst into flames as she held back her laughter. Her mother’s discomfort was palpable in the room.

“Yes, I suppose,” Deborah replied stiffly. “Will you be staying for dinner?”

Ruby opened her mouth in mocking surprise. “Could I? Really? Oh, thank you!”

“Come down in 10 minutes please, girls, to help set the table.” Deborah left the room, purposely leaving the door open.

Mary Martha crawled across the floor, shutting the door and then laid on the floor with her hand still on the door.

“What’s the matter?” Ruby asked.

“That … Dean.” Mary Martha sighed dramatically and rolled onto her back. “He’s beautiful. He looks like how an angel should.”

“Ahhhh, That Dean,” Ruby commented softly. “Go on.”

Mary Martha closed her eyes, sighing again. “I didn’t even see him close up”

( _i did, ruby teased_ )

( _shut up, mary martha snapped_ )

“and I just know he’s _riddled with sin_ , as Mama would say.” Mary Martha let out a laugh. “But I could care less. I’ve never seen anyone like him.”

“That’s because he’s not from around here,” Ruby said, shrugging. “We haven’t seen his dumb face every day since preschool.”

Mary Martha leaned up on her elbows to look at her friend. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Downstairs in the kitchen, Mary Martha and Ruby found a large casserole dish next to a plastic pitcher of sweet tea.

“Is this dinner, Mama?” Mary Martha asked.

Deborah didn’t turn around from the pot she was stirring on the stove. “No, it’s for the new neighbors. Will you bring it--”

“Yes!” both girls exclaimed at the same time, grabbing at the food.

As they headed out of the kitchen at a speed Deborah found unnerving, she called out,

“Oh, and girls?”

Ruby and Mary Martha both froze, cringed, and turned to face her at the exact same time.

“I’ll be timing you,” Deborah told them. “Dropping off dinner shouldn’t take more than 5 minutes.”

Ruby practically had to pull Mary Martha down the front walk to the gate.

“C’mon, this is your chance,” Ruby insisted. “Get yourself moving.”

“Oh, good grief.” Mary Martha steeled her nerve and they made it across the street.

Knocking on the Winchesters’ front door took all Mary Martha’s bravery as the casserole dish burned her fingers. Footsteps approaching the closed door almost sent her scrurrying back across the road, but Ruby’s elbow in her side kept her in place.

_Please let it be Dean. Please let it be Dean,_ Mary Martha prayed.

The door opened and the lovely blondeness that was Mary Winchester stood before them.

“Hello, girls,” she said, genuinely pleased.

“Hello, Mrs. Winchester,” Ruby replied since Mary Martha was struck dumb by disappointment and terror. “We have dinner for you.”

“Isn’t that sweet?” Mary Winchester asked. She opened the front screen door. “Would you like to come in?”

Without realizing they were even doing it, Mary Martha’s feet moved on their own and propelled her through the open doorway into the Winchesters’ home.


	3. Chapter 3

Dean stopped trying to find a pizza place that delivered when he heard girls’ voices at the front door. Leaning against the counter in the box-congested kitchen, Dean glanced up from his phone just as his mother walked into the room, flanked by the two girls from earlier: the brunette Sam practically jumped in the street and the redhead that hid behind the fence from across the road.

“Dean,” his mother said, using that voice she reserved for when she thought he was going to be particularly difficult, “we have guests.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, laying his phone on the counter next to him. He turned slightly to face his mother and the two girls. “I see.”

“Locate your shirt,” Mary said pointedly.

Dean’s shirt was tucked into the waistband of his jeans and he would have made a show of putting it on just elicit a giggle from either of the visitors, but his mother’s face screamed “NO NONSENSE,” so on the shirt went with no fuss. But not before he noticed the redhead’s hazel eyes rake him from head to toe and back again.

“Sam!” Mary called. “Kitchen, please!”

Sam appeared in the doorway of the kitchen wearing just a towel, not realizing the Winchesters had guests. Dean got the outburst of giggles he’d been hoping for as Sam saw the girls and the girls saw Sam and Sam fled the kitchen for his room to search out some clean clothes.

Mary let out a short laugh. “I’m sorry about that, ladies,” she said easily. “I didn’t know Sam was so indecent.” She took the dish from Mary Martha Weber’s hands and placed it on the counter. “And you are?” she asked Ruby next.

“Ruby. I’m Mary Martha’s best friend.”

Mary’s smile was easy and open as she looked at both of the girls. “We met Mary Martha earlier. Didn’t we, Dean?”

“In a matter of speaking,” Dean replied.

Sam burst back into the room, pulling a t-shirt over his head. Ruby blatantly checked him out as he came across the room towards her.

“Hi, Ruby,” the younger boy said breathlessly.

“Hi, Sam,” she replied, turning pink.

Mary Martha couldn’t believe it. Usually Ruby was indiscriminate in her flirting, not caring if there was a parent present or not, but--for some reason--a simple greeting from Sam Winchester was enough to make her blush. A glance Dean Winchester’s way made Mary Martha realize that he was thinking the same thing about his brother.

“Would you girls like to stay?” Mary asked, breaking through the thick haze of raging teenage hormones.

“We can’t!” Mary Martha Weber burst out. “Mama will be expecting us back.”

“I see.” Mary didn’t seem that surprised as Mary Martha edged backwards down the hall, taking Ruby with her by the elbow. “Well, thank you for dinner.”

“You’re welcome.” Mary Martha Weber’s face was a mottled red and white and she looked about ready to faint.

Mary caught a glimpse of her eldest son out of the corner of her eye. He was smiling slightly at Mary Martha Weber, clearly enjoying making her blush. Mary glared at Dean until he saw her and quickly lowered his eyes to the floor.

“Come back any time, girls. And tell your mother I’ll bring her dish back as soon as I can,” Mary assured Mary Martha Weber.

“Okay, bye!” Mary Martha Weber cried out at the same time Ruby called “Bye, Sam!” and the screen door slammed behind them.

Mary turned her attention to her sons: Sam looked smitten and ready to run after Ruby while Dean was openly smirking at his feet, proud of his effect on the innocent Mary Martha Weber.

“Boys.” Mary brought her hand down on the counter with a loud bang to get their attention. “Let’s talk.”

Dean and Sam exchanged exasperated looks, but took their places on one side of the counter while Mary held court on the other. There was no fighting with Mom when she used her Judge Mom voice. It still made Sam quake a little in the knees and made Dean think of all the bad things she could catch him on.

“Listen, guys,” Mary began, “I know moving here wasn’t what you wanted and I know things have been rough for a few years, but I really need us to pull together as a family--”

“We _do_ ,” Sam interrupted, stung at Mary’s insinuation.

“ _That being said_ ,” Mary continued, giving Sam her patented Mom Look to silence him, “I don’t think that chasing down the local girls 5 hours after we move into town is a good idea.”

Mary paused, arching an eyebrow at her handsome sons. Sam, at least, had the decency to look ashamed at himself over gawking Ruby so blatantly. Dean … well, Dean, on the other hand, grinned at his mother. It was times like that, when Dean turned on that Winchester charm, that Mary’s heart caught in her throat and her palms went sweaty.

_Damn you, John Winchester,_ she thought as her older boy just smiled serenely at her like a smug Satan.

“I’m serious, Dean,” Mary said. Her voice brokered no smart-ass responses, making Dean’s grin slide off his face quickly. “These aren’t Chicago girls. These girls are sweet church-goers who bring us casseroles and sweet tea and call me ‘ma’am’ and wear purity rings for Christ’s sake. Let’s not get us run out of town on a rail just yet, all right?”

“Yes, Mom.” Dean’s braggadocio all but evaporated and Mary was shocked to see a contrite little boy standing in front of her instead of her strapping, 18 year old son.

“Good.” Mary hid her shaking hands by opening the closest box. “Now let’s find some plates and eat.”

Hours later, Dean was hanging up a Led Zeppelin poster when Sam leaned in his open door.

“Hey, can we talk?” Sam asked.

“C’mon in, Sammy.” Dean gestured at his re-assembled bed, but didn’t stop his decorating.

Sam glanced around his brother’s nearly-finished room. “I can’t believe how much you’ve gotten done.”

“No reason to not make it like home,” Dean replied.

Sam sighed. Dean glanced over his shoulder at his brother. He’d never seen Sam look so sad. Well, maybe once before …

“But it’s not home,” Sam answered quietly, sounding much younger than his 16 years.

“Dude. Sammy.” Dean pulled his desk chair over to the bed and sat down in front of Sam. “C’mon, man. Don’t do this shit. You know what Chicago was doing to Mom. You know how it was for her there after--well, after. Staying there was killing us all. This is better. It’ll _get_ better. I’ll find a job. You’ll get a library card.” Sam laughed in spite of himself. “It’ll be good. I promise. Besides …” Dean swiped the corner of his lips with his thumb and leaned in closer. “I saw the way that Ruby looked at you. I’ve had girls look at me like that before. I know what that means.”

“I’m not an idiot, Dean,” Sam scoffed as his ears turned pink. “I know what that means too.”

“Good. But what Mom said is true. Girls like Ruby talk a big game, but they’re all good girls at heart. I bet she’s just as awkward as you are when it comes down to it.”

Sam ruminated on his brother’s wisdom as Dean got up to start putting away his books. To the outside, Dean Winchester was a bad boy, but Sam and Mary knew his real nature: tender, loving, protective and smarter than he let on. Dean’s book collection spoke of a well-read lover of words: _1984, To Kill A Mockingbird, Slaughterhouse-Five, One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest, The Lord of the Rings_ trilogy (including _The Silmarrillion_ , a book even Sam couldn’t get through). The list went on and on. Sam never understood why Dean had to pretend to be a dumb oaf, but he was sure it had to do with their dad.

“What about you?” Sam finally asked.

“What about me?” Dean replied, shelving Vonnegut’s _Slaughterhouse-Five_ and _Cat’s Cradle_ next to each other.

“The redhead?” Sam pressed.

Dean didn’t have to face his brother and Sam knew he was grinning like a dork. “You mean Mary Martha Weber?”

“That would be her.”

Dean shrugged, his broad shoulders moving under his old grey t-shirt. “What about her?”

“Man, she digs you,” Sam said.

“Yeah, and I dig Elvis,” Dean replied. “That doesn’t mean I’m going to be singing _Fools Rush In_ anytime soon.”

Sam looked confused. “What the hell does that even mean?”

“I have no idea,” Dean admitted, which cracked the two brothers up for a few minutes.

The comfortable silence that followed in Dean’s room spoke volumes over the brother’s bond. Chicago hadn’t been easy for them because it hadn’t been easy for Mary, so the boys had learned how to rely on each other from an early age. It made them seem elusive and assholish and a little _too_ close, but friends came easily to the handsome duo when they finally did come. It was the Winchester charm and charisma that Mary both admired and feared in her sons that drew others to them like moths to flames.

“You know she would die for you to ask her out,” Sam said suddenly.

“When did you become such an expert on shy Christian girls?” Dean teased.

Sam shrugged. “I think I know shy better than you do.”

Dean turned and looked at his younger brother, who was thumbing through a few of Dean’s porno mags that Dean was sure he’d hid better.

“You got any advice on girls for me, _Penthouse Forum_?” Dean asked Sam.

“Not really,” Sam replied, turning his head sideways to get a better look at a centerfold before Dean snatched the magazine away. “I just think you should probably get to know her better and _then_ ask her out.”

Sam headed out of the room while Dean pondered Sam’s statement.

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

Sam stopped in the doorway, half in and half out of Dean’s room. “Yeah,” he answered. “You two would make a great couple. Like Sandy and Danny in _Grease_.”  
  
“Get the hell out of here, you little shit,” Dean exclaimed, laughing, as he threw the mag at Sam’s retreating, laughing back.


	4. Chapter 4

When Sam was gone, Dean retrieved his porn before Mary could come upstairs and see it, thinking about what Sam had said. There was no denying that the innocent Mary Martha Weber wasn’t cute as hell, but Dean was in no mood to even attempt the long and agonizingly slow seduction of a religious girl. Dean spent most of his sophomore year romancing a bashful Baptist girl only to find out at the end of the school term that she was 1) the furthest thing from a virgin ever and 2) playing him for a fool. Nope. He wasn’t going down that road again any time soon.

A faint tapping at his door announced Mary’s arrival upstairs. Dean was glad he’d shoved the porn into his desk drawer as he turned to face her.

“Hey, angel,” Mary said softly. “You doing okay?”

Dean’s hard outer shell melted away as Mary walked into his room. He smiled down at his mother as she gave him a hug.

“God, you’re tall,” she remarked.

“Not as tall as Sammy,” Dean disagreed.

“True.” Mary nodded as she took a seat in the desk chair. “Sit down, angel. We need to talk.”

Dean sighed through his nose. He knew this visit wasn't a social call. He sat on his bed and hunched forward, his forearms on his thighs, looking up at Mary through his eyelashes.

“Don’t get defensive,” Mary said. “I just want to thank you for what you said to Sam earlier.”

“You heard?” Dean asked, embarrassed.

“I’m your mother, Dean. Of course I heard.” Mary rolled her eyes. “You two are about as quiet as a pack of wolves howling at the moon.”

“Yeah, well …” Dean said gruffly.

“Dean,” Mary laid her hand over her eldest sons clenched fists, “you said everything that I would have said to Sam, but you said it better. You said it man to man. It would sound like a lecture if I’d done it, mother to son. Thank you.”

Dean felt himself blush at the praise. Mary still couldn’t believe that a compliment could turn her tough-as-nails man into a blushing child. As quick as the red skin came it was gone and Dean pulled his hands out of hers.

“No problem, Mom,” he said in a rough voice. “Sam just needed a little man to man, like you said.”

Mary’s heart broke at the quicksilver change in him from tender man to tough dude.

 _Damn you, John Winchester,_ she thought for the second time that day.

“So, any plans for tomorrow?” Mary asked, changing the subject.

“I was thinking I’d drive into _town_ ” Dean put sarcastic quotes around the word _town_ “and try to find a job. Bring Sam with me. Drop him off at the library, if they have one.”

Mary almost reassured Dean that he could go to the library too, but stopped herself. He ordered his books online and had them delivered to the house so as not to shine up his well-rehearsed, tarnished boy image.

“What a great idea,” Mary said, getting up. Dean watched her stand, marveling in how beautiful his mother was. “I’ll say good bye before I leave for work.”

“I can’t believe these hicks gave you a day to settle in before you start,” Dean muttered.

“Hang on a minute, mister,” Mary snapped. “It was _you_ who took so long to get your ass moving back in Chicago. If you had just packed when I said, we could have been here three days ago.”

Shamed at the truth being thrown at him, Dean ducked his head. Suddenly, he looked up, grinning at his mother.

“I love you, Mom,” he said.

“Shut up,” Mary laughed. “I love you too,” she added before leaving Dean’s room.

Despite the early hour, Dean closed his door over and turned off the light. He got undressed by the dull gleam of the street light outside his window. It was a quiet ( _too quiet,_ dean thought bitterly) night out there with absolutely no city noise to lull him to sleep. Standing at his window in pajama pants and t-shirt, Dean looked up and down the deserted street his family now called home.

“Holy shit,” he muttered. “This is-- _whoa_.”

Across the street, lit up by the soft light from her desk lamp, Mary Martha Weber was getting ready for bed. Dean felt incredibly guilty for being a creeper, but she was just _standing there_ staring at what Dean assumed was a mirror on the wall. While Dean watched, Mary Martha Weber pulled her blouse and flowered skirt off, revealing a white tank top and a pair of bikini panties.

“Dean Winchester, you fucking perv,” Dean cursed himself as parts of him stirred sleepily.

Mary Martha Weber did that magical girl trick of taking off her bra without taking off her tank top. Released from her conservative clothes, Mary Martha Weber took on a whole different persona. Red hair, freed from its ponytail, fell over her shoulders and down her back. Mary Martha Weber held her shoulders back proudly as she raised her chin, obviously admiring her reflection. Hands on her hips, she turned sideways, displaying a surprisingly curvy body. Dean’s dick sprang to attention immediately.

“I’m going to hell,” Dean told himself, but he didn’t look away.

Mary Martha Weber looked at herself for a few more minutes before disappearing from the window and turning off her light. Dean leaned his forehead against the window pane, breathing like he just ran a marathon.

“Dean?” Sam’s voice asked from the doorway. “You okay? Why are you standing around in the dark?”

Dean pressed his hips against the windowsill, willing his dick to calm down.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, glad his voice sounded normal.

“What’s up with _you_?” Sam returned. Sam flicked on the bedroom light, causing Dean to blink rapidly. “”Dude. How close are you to the window?”

“What do you want, Sam?” Dean asked. His hormones were still raging like mad as the image of Mary Martha Weber in her tight tank top and little panties unwittingly popped back into his head.

“I was just coming to see if I can borrow a book.”

“Why can’t you read one of yours?”

“I didn’t unpack them yet.”

Dean let out a gusty groan as his body finally relaxed. Turning to face Sam, Dean saw his little brother holding back hysterical laughter.

“What’s so funny?” Dean demanded.

Sam let out a loud bark of laughter, shoulders shaking, face red, tears rolling down his cheeks. It took Dean a second before a terrifying thought dawned on him: _Sam knew._

“Feelin’ okay now?” Sam barely managed to gasp out. “Anything new pop up?”

“Oh, that’s it, you little shit,” Dean growled and dove at his brother.

“ _Mom!!_ ” Sam howled but took Dean’s hit like a man.

“Damn it, you two!” Mary shouted from her room, laughing hysterically.

The happy yelling and laughing from the Winchesters’ house echoed up and down the empty street, shattering the quiet sanctity of a Kentucky Sunday night.


	5. Chapter 5

Mary Martha had worked at the pizza place since she was old enough to have a job. She and Ruby both worked there, usually the same shift, so going to work was always fun. It was in the city, about a 20 minute drive, but Ruby’s mom let them use the station wagon, which--admittedly--wasn’t the coolest car on the planet, but it was better than no car.

Monday started a new work week and, of course, they were late because Ruby used every red light as a chance to pluck her eyebrows. The light would turn green, Ruby would yell “DAMN IT!”, slam down on the gas pedal and hit the next red light. It cracked Mary Martha up.

“Morning, girls!” Anita, the manager, called as the friends burst in the door.

“We’re not late!” Ruby yelled.

“You’re five minutes late,” Anita answered.

“Five minutes? Is that all?” Ruby asked, throwing her purse under the counter. “That’s practically early for me!”

Mary Martha laughed again, opening the register to count the till. The lunch crowd started rolling in around 11.30. Most of the customers were repeat visitors from the bank and the gas stations. Even some of the McDonald’s workers from down the street would come in for something other than McD’s.

The place was pretty packed when Ruby suddenly snapped Mary Martha on the butt with a towel.

“Ow! Ruby!” Mary Martha exclaimed, rubbing the sore spot.

“It’s them!” Ruby hissed.

“Who?” Mary Martha asked, confused.

Ruby spun Mary Martha toward the door. Walking in were the Winchester boys, Dean first followed closely by Sam.

“Oh, my gosh,” Mary Martha gasped.

“I think you can go a little stronger than that, sweetie,” Ruby said.

“Oh, my goodness.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Oh, that’s better.”

The Winchesters approached the counter. When Dean caught sight of two familiar faces, his face broke into a grin.

“Ladies,” he said as he leaned against the counter. “How are we today?”

“Hey, Sam,” Ruby said, bumping Mary Martha out of the way with her hip to get next to the register.

“Hey.” Sam tried to play it cool, but his red cheeks and huge smile gave him away.

Mary Martha watched as Ruby started to giggle, a real giggle not her I’m A SuperFlirt giggle. This had never happened before.

“What can I get you?” she finally asked Dean, who was taking in the Sam-Ruby exchange with a bemused smile.

“Four slices, I guess,” Dean replied. “And two drinks.”

“You got it.” Mary Martha turned away.

“You seem a lot more relaxed than the last time I saw you,” Dean commented.

Mary Martha almost dropped the pizza she was holding. She looked over her shoulder at Dean. He was gazing at her with those ridiculous green eyes. Green eyes. She’d never seen anyone with green eyes like that before. In fact, she’d never seen anyone look at her like Dean Winchester was looking at her.

“Yes, well …” Mary Martha stammered. “I have to be professional here.”

“Professional like that?” Dean had moved down the counter to give Ruby and Sam more room to flirt, which seemed to be going pretty well.

“No one knows professionalism like Ruby does,” Mary Martha joked.

Dean Winchester’s laugh was one of the most beautiful things Mary Martha was sure she’d ever heard. Gripping the edge of the counter so she wouldn’t collapse at the sound, Mary Martha smiled, embarrassed by her own wit.

“Mary Margaret--” Dean began.

“Mary Martha,” she corrected him.

Dean shook his head. “That’s a mouthful of a name.”

“You can always--always call me Mary,” Mary Martha offered boldly.

“Hell no. Mary’s my mom’s name,” Dean refused vehemently.

“Martha?”

“Are you an 80 year old woman?”

Mary Martha giggled. “So what on earth are you going to call me then?”

Dean pursed his full lips. “I don’t name, Nameless. But I’ll think of something.”

Mary Martha served up the Winchesters’ slices and cups without dropping them (a miracle). Dean elbowed Sam, who could barely drag himself away from Ruby to eat, and found a table, leaving the girls to tend to the other customers.

“My god, that boy is just so cute,” Ruby said, eyeing Sam Winchester up from across the room.

“Ruby, please,” Mary Martha begged as she juggled two customers’ orders at the same time.

“Yeah, yeah.” Ruby expertly slung a uncooked pizza into the oven without taking her eyes off Sam.

The lunch rush lulled, giving the girls a chance to tidy, restock, and wipe down a few tables. Ruby offered to wipe tables, finding an excuse to sashay herself between the Winchesters’ table and the already clean one next to them. Mary Martha glanced up from stuffing napkin holders to see both Sam and Dean follow Ruby’s hips around the dining room.

_Of course,_ Mary Martha thought.

But she wasn’t jealous. Ruby was just a little rebellious streak. She liked attention, but Ruby was, deep down, a good girl at heart.

“Hey,” Dean said to Ruby suddenly.

Ruby tossed her hair over her shoulder, looking his way as she rubbed a table slower than was really necessary.

“Know any place that’s hiring?” Dean asked.

Ruby stood up, leaning one hip against the table, and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, we are.”

Dean shook his head as Sam’s eyes lit up.

“No, thanks,” Dean said at the same time Sam asked, “Doing what?”

“Sammy, nah, man,” Dean said. “You don’t wanna come home, stinking like pizza.”

“Why not?” Ruby asked. “There something wrong with the way I smell?”

She leaned toward their table and swirled her hand at them. Sam caught a whiff of her perfume, barely holding back his urge to grab her and kiss her. If Dean noticed his brother’s reaction, he didn’t say a word.

“I don’t work with food,” he told Ruby.

“I think Advance Auto Parts is hiring,” Ruby suggested.

“Perfect. Where is it?” Dean turned to look out the window.

Ruby pointed, leaning across them. Mary Martha couldn’t see exactly what was happening over there, but Sam’s eyes almost landed on the table, so Mary Martha was pretty sure Ruby was being inappropriate.

“It’s a two minute walk that way,” Ruby told Dean.

“Awesome, thanks.” Dean stood up. “Let’s go, Sammy.”

Sam didn’t move until Ruby leaned back against the table behind her.

“Sammy?” Dean asked. “You ready?”

“In a minute,” Sam replied, not taking his eyes off Ruby, who was returning the favor.

“For fuck’s sake,” Dean muttered. He looked across the restaurant and saw Mary Martha watching him. A smirk spread slowly across his lips as he made his way over to her.

“Oh, no,” Mary Martha panicked, immediately trying to look like she was doing something that she obviously hadn’t been doing a minute before.

“Hey,” Dean greeted her.

Mary Martha spun around, her hand pressed to her chest in mock surprise. “Dean! You startled me!”

Dean arched one eyebrow. “Really?” he asked sarcastically. “I _startled_ you?”

Mary Martha’s face turned as red as pizza sauce. She shuffled her feet. “No,” she admitted. “I knew you were coming.”

“Damn, girl. I gotta teach you how to lie,” Dean snickered.

Mary Martha huffed, offended. “No thank you.”

Dean held his hands up in defense. “Sorry, sorry. Didn’t know that was going to be a thing.”

“It’s wrong to lie,” Mary Martha told him automatically. _Good grief,_ she thought immediately. _I sound like my mother._

Dean made a face. “Is that something your mom says a lot?”

Mary Martha paused for a second, then laughed. Dean smiled at her.

“You have a great laugh,” he told her as Sam made his way over to them. Dean glanced at his little brother. “You ready now?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sam replied, smiling like a fool as he tucked his phone back into his pocket.

Dean started walking away, then stopped like he remembered something and turned back to Mary Martha. Mary Martha met his eyes with a smile.

“See ya ‘round, Marty,” Dean said, then turned on the heel of his brown Doc Martens boot and was out the door.

Mary Martha stood stock still at the counter. She was still in the same spot, when Ruby came back.

“I gave Sam my number,” Ruby was saying. “I have a sneaking suspicion that he’ll be texting me tonight after bedtime.” Ruby’s dark eyes sparkled. “He really is the sweetest guy … Mary Martha? You listenin’ to me?”

“Marty,” Mary Martha said dreamily.

“What’s this?” Ruby asked, confused.

“Marty. Dean called me Marty,” Mary Martha replied, not taking her eyes off the door that Dean and Sam Winchester had used to leave.

“Really now?” Ruby raised her eyebrows.

“Yes. Call me Marty from now on.”

Ruby nodded. “You got it. Mary Martha is dead. Long live Marty.”


	6. Chapter 6

The newly christened Marty Weber strolled in her house after her pizza parlor shift to meet her mother in the front hallway on the phone.

“Mary Martha would love to help,” Deborah was saying. Marty paused on her way up the steps.

_What?_ she mouthed at her mother.

Deborah waved her hand at Mary Martha and turned away to finish her conversation.

“Oh, sure,” Deborah went on. “Mary Martha had a wonderful time last year.”

_Oh, no,_ Marty thought.

“Yes, yes.” Deborah beamed over her shoulder at Marty. “She _loves_ planning the picnic.”

Marty groaned, covering her eyes with her hand. Deborah hung up the phone.

“Mary Martha Weber,” she scolded. “Don’t you dare make that sound. Miss Linny thinks you’re perfect for the Junior Picnic Planning Committee.”

“Mama, the Picnic Planning Committee is awful,” Marty whined, knowing she sounded like a spoiled child. “They just sit around gossiping and not planning anything until, at the last minute, they decide to start planning and that’s when the juniors end up doing all the work.”

“Mary Martha!” Deborah slapped her hand against her thigh. “Miss Linny is Pastor Schneider’s wife and I will not have her disrespected in this house.”

“It’s all true, Mama,” Marty said before heading upstairs to her room.

“You come down here this instance!” Deborah hollered up the steps, but Marty ignored her.

Closing her bedroom door behind her and leaning against it, Marty’s heart thumped in her chest like a freight train. She’d never blithely ignored a direct command from either parent before and she felt thrilled and terrified at her own audacity. Stripping off her work clothes, Marty gathered up a clean outfit and was about to head into the bathroom when she saw Dean Winchester in his bedroom window.

Slamming herself against the wall, Marty peered out her flimsy organza curtains at him. He was sitting in a desk chair, leaning back with his feet on the sill, ankles crossed, reading. Marty watched as he smiled to himself, turning a page. He was obviously engrossed in his book, so engrossed that he reached for his drink, took a sip, and put the glass down without taking his eyes off the page. Marty smiled, biting her lip, wondering what he could possibly be reading.

“Mary Martha?” James knocked on the door. “Are you ready for supper?”

Marty jumped at the sound of her father’s voice. “Not yet, Daddy.”

“Well hurry it up, young lady,” James ordered. “You have 10 minutes.”

James’ feet receded down the stairs again and Marty stole one last look at Dean Winchester. He was reading, still and peaceful, as a little grin played across his beautiful lips. Marty tore her eyes away and hurried for the shower.

After supper, Marty loaded the dishwasher while simultaneously texted Ruby, who had also been recruited by Miss Linny for the Junior Picnic Planning Committee.

_this is gonna suck,_ Ruby texted. _they never do anything!_

_i know,_ Marty texted. _its always us._

_always._ Marty giggled, seeing Ruby rolling her eyes on the other end of the message.

“What’s so funny?” Deborah asked, bringing her more plates.

Marty closed out the messages before Deborah could see she and Ruby were complaining about being on the Junior Picnic Planning Committee. It really was an honor to be selected for the Junior Picnic Planning Committee but Marty had learned her first year on the committee it was all work for the young girls and all glory for the grown women. But Heaven forbid you should turn down a spot on the Junior Picnic Planning Committee. You might as well kiss your social life goodbye.

“Nothing, Mama,” Marty replied. “Ruby and I are both on the picnic committee.”

“Oh. Ruby is?” Deborah asked, but her face screeched disapproval.

“Ruby always is,” Marty said simply. “She’s Pastor Schneider’s daughter, after all.”

Deborah hurumph’ed disdainfully as the phone rang again. “Stepdaughter,” she corrected.

With Deborah busy on the phone, Marty went back to her dishes and texting.

_i think sam’s gonna text me later,_ Ruby had messaged.

_i bet,_ Marty agreed. _you like him that much?_

_i like him._

_that much?_

_shut up._

_you do!!!!_

_stupid. call me._

_in a bit. dishes._

_whatevs._

Marty rushed through the rest of her kitchen chores.

In the sanctity of her bedroom, Marty curled up in her armchair to call Ruby.

“Deborah is a slave-driver,” Ruby remarked without a greeting.

“Just because your mama doesn’t trust you to do the dishes, doesn’t mean mine won’t either,” Marty replied.

“Drop a few plates,” Ruby suggested. “That’ll scare her. Especially is it’s her discontinued china pattern.”

Marty sighed. “You want to talk about Sam?”

“I want to talk about Dean.”

Marty’s breath caught in her throat. “What about Dean?” she asked, sounding strangled.

“Jesus, don’t die on me,” Ruby commented.

“ _Ruby_!” Marty was genuinely shocked at Ruby taking Jesus’ name.

“Stop yourself, Sister Mary Martha,” Ruby teased. “I’m not gonna get struck down for one invocation of The Lord’s name.”

Marty glanced at the framed picture of Jesus holding a lamb that graced her desk. “I guess so.”

“So. Dean Winchester. How do you feel that went today?”

Marty felt herself blush as she remembered how Dean gave her a new name, laughed at her joke, and looked at her with his incredible eyes. Ruby took Marty’s silence as a sign.

“So, you think it went good?” Ruby asked. “Like, pursue him as a boyfriend good?”

“Ruby!” Marty looked at her phone.

“What?” Ruby laughed. “They grow ‘em really nice in Chicago.”

“My goodness.”

“Look, with those two living across the street from you, you better shift into normal 17 year old girl mode really fast.”

“What are you talking about?” Marty asked.

“You know what I’m talking about,” Ruby insisted.

“I do not,” Marty said stubbornly, but she did. “And neither should you.”

“You know what? You need to stop that,” Ruby snapped. “You’re not my mom, you’re my best friend. And I’m allowed to say these things to my best friend. I gotta tell ya, I saw the way Dean was looking at you, Mart. And he was _all_ about you.”

“You think so?” Marty asked, feeling a thrilled tingle in her stomach.

“Definitely,” Ruby agreed. “How do your parents feel about the new neighbors?”

“My dad has a bad feeling about the boys,” Marty admitted. “He got it as soon as Dean pulled up in his car.”

“Huh. He would be afraid of a car,” Ruby snickered. “But, hey, eventually school’s gonna start again and you know what that means.”

“Ummm … we’re gonna graduate this year because we’re seniors and then I get to go to college?” Marty asked, excited at the idea of attending the University of Kentucky. She’d already sent out her application for admission into UK’s nursing program. Her parents were less than thrilled at her being so far away and her applying UK brought on a huge fight and lots of praying, but eventually the prospect of bragging in church that their daughter was a Kentucky Wildcat won James and Deborah over.

Ruby cleared her throat. “Wow. Uhhh. No. What I was going to say was: school’s going to start soon and that means you get 8 parentless hours of independence. You are you’re own person. If you wanna flirt with the cute new neighbor boy from across the street, who’s gonna be in the same school as us!, it’ll be okay.”

“It’s not gonna be okay. You wanna know why it’s not gonna be okay?” Marty argued. “It’s not gonna be okay because everybody in the school talks to everybody else in the school and everybody in the school is gonna find out I’m flirting with the new neighbor boy and it’ll get back to my dad and the next thing you know I’m gonna be grounded for the rest of my life and my mom’s gonna homeschool me. And _then_ what’s gonna happen?”

“You’re gonna turn into a socially awkward dork and not be able to conjugate full sentences around cute guys and people you barely know?” Ruby asked. “Wait. No. You already do that.”

Marty started laughing. “You are so mean to me! Why am I your friend?”

“Because eventually, you’re going to realize I am the best thing that’s ever happened to you and--because of me--you’re going to have the greatest love affair of your life with Dean Winchester, who is so beautiful, angels would fall from Heaven to be with him. Besides, you have to admit, _I’m awesome_.”

Marty paused as the truth of Ruby’s words sank in. “Thank you. That was very kind of you.”

“I’m not trying to be unkind, sweetie, but you’re kinda sheltered--even more than me and look who _my_ dad is,” Ruby said. “You kinda don’t go anywhere or do anything or talk to anybody or try to date.”

“That’s not true,” Marty protested. “I went out on a date with George Miller.”

“George Miller? From church?” Ruby groaned. “Oh, Marty, you _need_ Dean Winchester in your life. You _have to have_ Dean Winchester in your life.”

Marty stood up and walked across her room to her window. Across the street, Marty watched Dean’s bedroom light come on. Was it that late already? Marty flicked on her desk lamp, chasing away the shadows of dusk. As Ruby expounded about her more extensive experience with guys (two boyfriends to Marty’s zero boyfriends), Marty watched Dean Winchester move around his room. He was ready for bed by the looks of his pajama pants and tank top. Just the sight of him in pajama pants and a tank top was enough to stop Marty’s breath for a moment. Dean stopped by his window to retrieve the book he’d been reading earlier, then stopped and looked up. He caught Marty watching him.

Marty froze like a deer in headlights. There was no way she could avoid being seen now as Dean Winchester stared over the road at her. Minutes ticked by as the two of them watched each other. A slow, Cheshire Cat smile spread across Dean’s lips. A smile Marty couldn’t help but return with a shy grin of her own.

Dean raised one hand in a wave and mouthed “Good night.” He then turned from his window, closing the mini-blinds behind him.

“You’re right, Ruby,” Marty said into her phone suddenly, cutting off her best friend’s monologue. “I do need Dean Winchester. I just have to tackle this the right way.”

“How are you going to do that?” Ruby asked.  
  
“By making him respectable in the eyes of my parents,” Marty replied. “I’m bringing him to the church picnic.”


	7. Chapter 7

Dean started his new job at Advance Auto Parts that week. There wasn’t a thing he didn’t know about fixing cars, so the manager was pretty thrilled about his new employee and found reasons to leave Dean alone in the store, even on his second day.

Dean was pondering the trust (or stupidity) of his new boss as he put away stock when James Weber walked in the door. Dean barely glanced up from the spark plugs he was sorting, knowing that making eye contact with the man meant engaging in conversation with him. Then Dean remembered he was alone in the store.

_Shit,_ Dean groaned inwardly.

“Hey, Mr. Weber,” Dean said as James Weber approached the counter.

James Weber paused. Dean could see the suspicion and annoyance on his face. Just knowing that he exasperated Marty’s dad that much made Dean smile.

“Hello, Dean,” James Weber said evenly.

“Help you with anything?” Dean asked.

James Weber scanned the store quickly. It was completely empty aside from the two of them. James Weber turned back to Dean, whose grin was so infuriatingly cheery and sarcastic, that he was tempted to leave and come back another time. But, no. That wasn’t going to solve his broken headlight lens.

“I need a new headlight lens for my car,” James Weber replied stiffly.

“Sure,” Dean said. He headed over to the computer. “You need just the headlight or the housing too?”

“I need it all,” James replied.

“Okie-dokie.” Dean grinned up from the keyboard at James Weber, who felt himself bristling at the smile. “So, anything exciting happening out there?”

James looked at Dean suspiciously. “What do you mean?”

“Out there.” Dean gestured at the parking lot. “The world outside Advance Auto Parts.”

James shook his head. “Just a regular day, I suppose.”

“Except for your broken headlight, huh?” Dean’s tone rackled James Weber and Dean knew it. It was petty to be baiting a man like James Weber (Dean knew he was better than that), but it was giving Dean a small, gleeful thrill.

“Yes, I suppose,” James Weber looked like he wanted to be anywhere but there.

Dean found a replacement headlight and housing for James, snickering the whole time he located the parts in the back. After the transaction was complete, James Weber handed Dean a small yellow card. Dean glanced down at it. “DOES JESUS HAVE YOUR LOVE?!” the card screamed at him, followed by Bible quotes and an admonishment that, unless Dean accepted Jesus as his personal Lord and Savior, an afterlife of torment awaited him in Hell. Dean arched an eyebrow at James Weber.

“Think about it, son,” James Weber advised him and left the store.

Dean’s temper flared, but he tamped it out by throwing the card away. What a self-righteous jerk. What right did he have?

Dean’s phone growled out its text alert. It was Sammy, reminding Dean to pick him up at work when Dean was done. Sam had taken the job at the pizza place with the girls, slinging pies and bussing tables. Dean was about 99.9% sure that Sam had the job just to be near Ruby and Dean didn’t blame him. The only other job available to Sam was at McDonald’s. The choice between Ruby and Big Macs was easily won by a foxy brunette with hips that didn’t quit.

_yeah, yeah, i know, sammy,_ Dean texted back. _how’s ruby today?_

_not here, but marty is. want me to tell her hi?_

_no thanks._

_you wimp,_ Sam messaged. _you afraid of a girl now?_

_shut up before i kick your ass._

_do that and mom’ll kick YOUR ass._

Dean snorted. Wasn’t that the truth? Dean glanced down at the trashcan next to him. The yellow card James Weber had given him. How could anyone believe that crap? No one was burning in Hell, in Dean’s humble opinion, and no one was going to Heaven either. Mary Winchester had been too busy trying to survive to teach her sons religion. She taught them to be kind, to be good people, to be strong in their convictions, but never about God and Jesus and angels and The Devil. Dean was pretty sure that he couldn’t name four angels if his life depended on it. Besides, wasn’t The Devil an angel?

“Talk about downsizing,” Dean smirked, kicking the trashcan under the counter so he couldn’t be bothered by that stupid yellow card.

Dean was relieved by his boss, who Dean thought looked surprised to remember that he had a job.

“Hey, man!” Sam called from behind the counter. “You want a slice?”

Dean waved his brother’s offer away without stopping his scan of the restaurant. Marty was nowhere to be found. A little more disappointed than he wanted to let on, Dean leaned against a table near the back of the dining room to stay out of the way since he wasn’t buying. A door opened and Marty came out of the bathroom. She was tying her little black apron back around her waist. Dean crossed his arms and slung a long leg out to block her way.

“Hey, Marty,” he said quietly.

Marty looked up from adjusting her apron. “Dean!” her hazel eyes went wide and a little wild at coming face to face with him. “Hi! Um … hi. How are you?”

Marty reclaimed her composure almost immediately. Dean nearly smiled at her suddenly cool demeanor.

“I’m great, Marty,” he replied. “Been keepin’ my brother busy?”

“Oh, sure,” Marty said, glancing over at Sam, who was a professional at pretending he wasn’t paying attention to Dean’s flirting techniques. “He’s awesome.”

“That’s why Mom kept him around,” Dean agreed.

Marty looked confused for a second, then smiled, her face relaxing. Her shirt was dusted with flour from the pizza crust dough. It took all of Dean’s restraint to not brush a swipe of flour off her chin.

“You have a little …” Dean touched his chin.

Marty wiped her chin off with the back of her hand and let out a laugh that sent an unexpected jolt down Dean’s spine. Dude, what was _that_ about?

“Good grief,” Marty was saying. “I just get covered with this stuff. I have to shake off my whole outfit before I wash it or I make glue in the washer.”

Dean smiled lamely. _Pull it together, Winchester,_ he thought derisively.

“You want anything?” Marty asked, heading behind the counter.

“Sure. Slice?” Dean replied, following her to the register.

“I just asked you if you wanted anything,” Sam protested.

Dean ignored his brother, who shook his head.

“You need a ride home?” Dean asked Marty.

Marty turned nearly as red as Dean’s polo shirt. “No. No, thanks. Ruby’s coming for me. We have a committee meeting.”

“What kind of committee?”

Marty tucked an invisible strand of auburn hair behind her ear. “It’s going to sound stupid …”

“Try me,” Dean offered.

“It’s my church. It has this picnic every end of summer and Ruby and I always end up on the planning committee. Mostly because Ruby’s dad is our pastor.”

Sam dropped the plastic cups he was carrying, making both Marty and Dean jump. “Ruby’s the what?”

Dean and Marty stared at Sam, who suddenly realized he’d spoken aloud. Ducking his head, Sam scurried off to the kitchen with the cups he’d retrieved from the floor.

“What’s wrong with him?” Marty asked Dean.

Dean shrugged his shoulders, holding back laughter. He knew exactly what Sam was thinking: Ruby was the pastor’s rebellious daughter. It was what pornos were made of.

Speaking of Ruby, the very girl twirled her way into the restaurant right on cue. She was wearing a sundress that could have roused a dead man from a morgue slab. Several pairs of eyes followed her to the counter.

“Greetings, ya’ll,” she said cheerfully. “Marty? You ready?”

“Sure am. And I just can’t wait.” Marty’s voice dripped sarcasm.

Linking arms with each other, Marty and Ruby started out of the pizza parlor. At the last second, Ruby turned around and caught Sam’s eye. She dropped him a wink as she nipped her tongue between her teeth.

“Jesus Christ,” Sam said, letting out a long breath.

“C’mon, man,” Dean said. “Let’s get you home before you explode all over the pizzas.”

“That girl makes me crazy,” Sam admitted once they were in Dean’s car.

“I couldn’t tell,” Dean teased.

“Dude, you know she’s hot.” Sam needed his older brother’s validation.

“She is,” Dean agreed. “But I’ve got this thing for redheads.”

“Bullshit,” Sam scoffed. “You’ve got a thing for _that_ redhead.”

Dean grinned at Sam’s tone. No need for either of them to discuss what redhead Sam was referring to.

Mary Winchester was sitting on the front porch of her new house with a glass of ice water and a book she wasn’t reading. Tucked under the cushion of her chair was a small handgun. She’d had it for years, ever since John Winchester--

No. Mary shook her head. They were safe now. There really wasn’t a reason for the gun anymore, but a decade of precaution was a hard habit to break. Uprooting her sons and fleeing Chicago (especially with Dean so close to graduating) was the last thing she wanted to do, but the past had been creeping up on them, edging closer and closer to shattering the fragile peace she had created for them. At 11, Dean had stopped asking why they moved so much, but how he managed to stay in the same schools. Sam never knew any different, so he just accepted the moving. Mary tried desperately to keep their lives as normal as possible, to keep the threat away, to keep the whole truth from them.

When Dean was 15, he stalked into the kitchen when he was sure Sam was asleep in bed and demanded, “Mom, tell me what’s happening.”

Mary’s hands shook, but she hid them in a sink of soapy water. This apartment was smaller than the last one, with one bedroom the boys shared while she took the couch, splintered wood floors and doors that all hung crooked, making them hard to stay closed.

“What are you talking about, Dean?” she asked.

“Mom, c’mon,” Dean insisted, sounding mad. “I’m not a kid anymore.”

“Yes, you are,” Mary said calmly. She turned and looked at her very angry son.  “I promise that, on your 18th birthday, I’ll tell you everything that ever happened. No secrets. No holding back. I’ll sit you down and tell you everything.”

“Everything?”

Mary nodded. “Absolutely everything.”

Dean eyed Mary with a piercing green glare. “I’m holding you to that, Ma.”

“I know you will, angel.” Mary smiled sadly at him.

Mary heard Dean’s car roaring up the street. The 1967 Chevy Impala that once belonged to John Winchester pulled into the driveway behind her sedan (aka The Mom Mobile). Dean and Sam tumbled out, laughing uproariously. They saw her on the front porch and smiled at each other happily. It had been years since she had worked a 9 to 5 job and they could all eat dinner together. Long shifts at her old hospital job kept her away from home more often than not.

“Who wants Yankee pot roast and mashed potatoes for dinner?” Mary called to them.

“Hell yeah!” Sam yelled, breaking into an ungainly lope across the lawn and up the front steps.

Dean followed a little slower, a little more sedately. Mary stood and smiled at her older son.

“Good day, Dean?” she asked as Sam clattered around the kitchen, setting the table.

“Good day, Mom?” he replied.

“Good day,” Mary smiled.

Dean reached under the cushion of her chair, pulling out her gun. His green eyes were troubled as he held it out to her, the handgun so small, it fit in his hand with no problem.

“Do you really still need this?” he asked sadly.

Mary took the gun and tucked it into the front pocket of her khaki capris.

“Old habits, angel,” she said.

“Nothing can hurt us here, Mom,” Dean told Mary, putting his arm around her shoulders.

They walked into the house like that, the son reassuring the mother.


	8. Chapter 8

The next few days passed slowly, _too slowly_ in Dean’s opinion. Work was mind-numbingly boring most of the time, minus when a few of the girls from the McDonald’s and PNC Bank heard about the new hot guy who worked at Advance. One day, Dean was inundated with girls buying snow scrapers and Turtle Wax. One particularly bold one made it clear in no uncertain terms that she was interested in more than just having Dean check her purchases, but Dean made it clear in no uncertain terms that he wasn’t interest in more than just checking out her purchases. She left in a flounce and, just as quickly as the influx of female shoppers started, they stopped.

“They probably think you’re gay,” Sam commented as they drove home one day.

“You stink,” Dean complained, ignoring his brother’s jibe.

“Maybe you should tell them about your girlfriend,” Sam suggested.

“I don’t have one,” Dean snapped. “Jesus, what the hell is that smell? Pepperoni?”

Sam shrugged. “Pepperoni. And Ruby.”  
“What?” Dean asked.

Sam looked out the passenger window while Dean waited. The smug smile on Sam’s face was too much for Dean, so Dean laid into his brother with a cheap shot to the ribs.

“Tell me. Now.”

Sam gasped, rubbing his side. “Why do you hit so hard?”

Dean felt a chill down his spine. “Sorry, Sammy,” he said gently. “Tell me about Ruby?”

Sam smiled again. “We made out in the walk-in.”

Dean let out a short laugh. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah. She dragged me in there when it was slow and we just pounced. Made out right against the cheese.”  
“Remind me not to eat pizza there for a while,” Dean teased.

“Shut up, man. It was frigging hot.”

“Hot in the walk-in?” Dean laughed at his own joke.

“You’re a douche.”

“I’m sorry, Sammy, really. Is that all then?”

Sam shot Dean a look. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Dean was sure there was more than just kissing against the cheese, but he didn’t push the subject. He turned up the radio, prompting a nerdy impromptu Journey sing-along with Sam.

“What the hell is all this?” Sam asked as they pulled up in front of their house. The street was lined with cars, parked in front of all the houses, including theirs.

“I have no idea,” Dean replied. He skirted the Impala around a badly-parked minivan and managed to fit his car in the short driveway. “Dunno where Mom’s gonna park.”

Getting out of the car, Dean and Sam both turned toward Marty’s house. The front porch was clogged with women. Ruby stood up from a cluster of girls and waved.

“Hey, Sam!” she called across the street.

Sam’s face lit on fire as he waved back. “Hey, Ruby,” he replied, trying to sound casual.

Dean caught sight of Marty in a gaggle of teenage girls. She was smiling and sometimes laughing and tossing her auburn hair over her shoulder. She stood up to grab a pitcher of sweet tea and Dean smiled appreciatively at the sundress she was wearing. Marty looked up from pouring to see Dean watching her. Dean and Marty gazed at each other enough that the other women gradually stopped talking to see what was going on. Their eyes went from Marty to Dean and back again. Dean leaned against his car, crossed his arms across his chest, and smiled slightly. He watched as Marty put the pitcher down, spoke to the church ladies for a moment, and then started across her front lawn to the fence. Dean stood up, uncrossed his arms and then crossed them again. What was this? Was she coming over to him? Right in front of everyone?

Suddenly unsure of what to do with his limbs, Dean watched in shock as Marty walked across the street to his driveway. Marty smiled at him easily, her dress swishing airly around the tops of her knees. Dean flicked his eyes over her, from her red ponytail to her bare feet.

_There’s no way this is happening,_ he thought.

“Hey, Dean,” Marty said. She was suddenly right in front of him, smiling up at him with lips that were shiny and deep pink. She locked her hands behind her back and posed a little.

“Hey … Marty,” Dean replied uncertainly. He was so flustered and uncomfortable over this new side of Marty, he didn’t exactly know what to do.

“So, I was wondering …” Marty began as she glanced up at Dean through her long black eyelashes. Dean had never noticed how much gold was flecked in her hazel eyes. Her bare toes pointed and touched the top of his boot.

_Jesus, why is that so sexy?_ Dean thought, but he kept his face impassive.

“Did you and Sam want to come to the church picnic with Ruby and me?” Marty was asking. “I know it sounds so lame to you, but it’s a great way to meet some of the people you’ll be in school with--”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean heard himself blurt out.

“Really?” Marty sounded surprised.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean repeated.

Behind him, Dean heard Sam make a snorty, strangled noise as he swallowed laughter.

“Great.” Marty smiled again. Dean felt his face smile back. Marty reached up and adjusted the collar of Dean’s work shirt. “I’ll give you more details when we work it out.” She glanced over her shoulder at the stunned group of church ladies (including her mother) she left on the front porch of her parents’ house. “I better go before they think you got me pregnant just by talking to you.”

Marty spun around, making her way back to her parents’. Dean watched the way her hips swung back and forth under her dress in time with her ponytail. Sam sidled up next to his older brother.

“What happened there?” Sam asked.

“I have no idea,” Dean replied honestly.

“That was weird,” Sam commented.

“I think she’s possessed,” Dean agreed.

“Demon?” Sam asked.

Dean laughed. “Siren.”

Marty rejoined the church ladies, who all stared at Dean like he was the devil incarnate. Sam shoved Dean’s arm.

“C’mon, man,” he said. “Let’s get in the house before they try to perform an exorcism on us.”

Dean looked over his shoulder one more time at Marty. She was sitting on the steps of the porch now, one leg pulled up to her chest, one leg stretched out in front of her, the skirt of her dress falling away from her legs, her arms wrapped around the leg against her chest. She was laughing at something Ruby (who had sat down opposite her) has said. Ruby then pointed at Dean. Marty tossed her ponytail over her shoulder as she turned to gaze at him. She rested her pointed little chin on the top of her knee and didn’t break her gaze until Dean turned and went into his house.

Once inside, Dean poured himself the biggest glass of soda he could manage. Chugging it back while Sam watched him, bemused and silent, Dean gasped for air when he was done.

“Better?” Sam asked.

“Shut up.”

“You okay, man?” Sam asked. “You’re acting really weird.”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno, Sammy. One second, she’s a nun. Next second, she’s a fox.”

“Maybe the humidity makes them crazy.” Sam laughed at his own joke.

Dean gave his brother a withering look. “Go take a shower. You stink. _Still_.”

Once he was alone, Dean sat at the kitchen table and checked his phone. There were one or two texts from Chicago friends he’d left behind, ragging him for moving “down South.” There was a message from one of his more random hook-ups from junior year. Dean deleted that message, wondering how she got his number.

Tapping his phone on the table, Dean toyed with the idea of dinner. Mary was going to be home to cook, mostly likely, but years of playing chef for Sam had Dean programmed to start dinner. Just thinking about food made Dean’s stomach growl. By the time Sam came back downstairs from his shower, Dean was elbow deep in sliced vegetables and marinating chicken.

“What’s for dinner, Bobby Flay?” Sam asked, snagging a handful of carrot sticks.

Dean smiled at his brother. “Chicken stir fry over pork fried rice.”

“You’re so awesome,” Sam replied immediately.

“I’m going out to work on Baby,” Dean told his brother as he stowed the chicken back into the fridge to marinate for a few more hours. “The drive from Chicago sucked for her.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Really? You gonna work on the car today? Right now?”

Dean pretended he didn’t know what Sam was implying. “No time like the present, Sammy boy. Wanna help?”

Sam shook his head. “Hell no. I’ll just watch the show.”

Dean grabbed an old grey t-shirt and headed back outside. Baby gleamed in the driveway, a black piece of vehicular art. Dean ran his fingers over the body of his car lovingly while Sam settled on a chair to read his newest copy of _Game Informer_. Dean turned the key in the ignition and Baby roared to life. AC/DC poured out of her speakers, flooding the Winchesters’ yard with screaming lyrics and frenetic guitar riffs.

“Dean,” Sam warned from his chair.

“Zip it, Sammy.”

His oil change paraphernalia gathered, Dean got to work under his car. Working on Baby was one of the most satisfying things Dean could think to do after the odd encounter with a suddenly very bold Marty. Cars he got. Girls he usually got. Cars and girls came easy to Dean. He knew how to finesse both of them so they would work for him. But this one. Nothing was coming easy with her.

She was a beauty, that was sure. She was sleek and supple with great curves and an amazing body. She exactly what to do to get Dean’s attention just enough, but was still sweet enough to make him feel guilty from thinking he could take more than she was willing to give. Dean knew he was going to have to be gentle with her. She would eventually yield to him, but it was going to take a while. It was going to take understanding. It was going to take gentleness. It was going to take patience. Oddly enough, Dean decided he didn’t really have a problem with any of those things.

Dean pushed himself out from under Baby, his fingers already wet with fluid. He stood up, wiping his hands on an old dish towel. The church ladies were dispersing from their picnic planning meeting. Marty and Ruby were gathering up glasses, talking and rolling their eyes over whatever teenage girls rolled their eyes about. Ruby headed into the house with her load of glasses, but Marty paused, letting Ruby head in without her.

Marty turned and caught Dean’s look with one of her own. Her cheeks flushed pink, but she didn’t drop her gaze. Dean leaned one hip against Baby, running the towel between his fingers slowly. He didn’t even notice the shocked, scrutinizing looks the departing women were giving him.

Dean only had eyes for Marty.

Marty only had eyes for Dean.

Marty tossed her head suddenly, moving inside her house. The screen door slammed behind her with a decided bang.

Oh, yeah. This beauty was going to take time.


	9. Chapter 9

Marty and Ruby sat facing each other, cross-legged, on Ruby’s bedroom floor. Ruby was holding both of Marty’s hands while Marty blushed.

“I was so proud of you!” Ruby was saying. “You did everything exactly right. His face was priceless.”

“It felt good,” Marty admitted.

“What?” Ruby asked, shocked.

“It felt good.” Marty let go of Ruby’s hands and flung herself across the hardwood. “The way he looked at me, like I was a real person and not just a little girl.”

“He looked totally confused,” Ruby laughed. “That was the best part.”

“Should I tell him I was flirting?” Marty asked worriedly.

“Are you kidding me?” Ruby snapped. “Never tell them. If he can’t figure it out on his own, he doesn’t deserve to know.”

“You girls want a snack?” Ruby’s mom, Miss Linny, opened the bedroom door.

“No thanks, Mom,” Ruby replied.

“What’re talking about?” Miss Linny asked. Marty liked Miss Linny. She was genuinely nice and, when she asked what you were talking about, she really wanted to know. She didn’t just want to lecture you about it.

“Sam’s older brother Dean,” Ruby replied.

Miss Linny motioned to Ruby’s desk chair, silently asking if she could sit down. When Ruby and Marty nodded cheerfully, Miss Linny joined the girls.

“Sam’s older brother Dean,” Miss Linny repeated. “Is he as cute as Sam?”

“He’s cuter,” Marty replied.

Ruby laughed. “He’s not cute, Mama. He’s beautiful.”

“Hey!” Marty cried, prompting more laughter.

“Oh, you can have him,” Ruby assured Marty. “Sam and I are just fine.”

Miss Linny cleared her throat, eyeing her daughter, who stopping wiggling her eyebrows so lasciviously. Both girls looked at Miss Linny a little guiltily.

“Girls, look,” Ruby’s mother said gently, “I know you’re very excited about your budding romances, but just remember that you’re saved. And being saved means that Jesus will always come first in your life.”

Marty nodded sagely, but Dean’s face flashed through her head. His green eyes. His full lips. His cute freckles. Yes, Marty loved Jesus, but Dean Winchester was much closer to home.

“Yes, Mama,” Ruby was using her Parents Truly Know Best voice.

Miss Linny glanced her daughter, looking for signs of sarcasm, but only found two pairs of earnest and innocent eyes looking back at her. Satisfied that her little speech got through to the girls, Miss Linny started to leave the room.

“Marty, are you staying for supper?” she asked. “We’re having your favorite.”

Marty smiled, feeling warm all over at being so loved. “‘Course I will.”

The next morning dawned hot and steamy. James Weber was at work. Deborah Weber was out running errands. Marty wanted nothing more than to lay directly under an air conditioning vent and not move, but, when she spotted Dean in his front yard, mowing the shin-high front lawn, Marty found it a lot more interesting to spy at him through the living room mini-blinds.

Pushing the mower like he had no idea how it worked, Marty watched as Dean cut ragged lines in the grass. Giggling at the city boy trying to do yard work, Marty tugged her thick auburn hair into a braid and headed out to help him.

“Hey!” she called as she crossed the street.

Dean looked up from the lawnmower, which had gotten choked up in a patch of weeds that hid a large stump. His face was red and sweaty. He looked really angry and frustrated.

“How’s it going?” Marty asked, feeling fluttery in her belly, but refusing to let it show on her face. She had to make Ruby proud.

“Just frigging great,” Dean snapped, turning off the mower. “I have no damn clue how to do this shit.”

Marty laughed. “You want some pointers?”

“You a landscaper now?” Dean asked.

“I’ve mowed a lawn or two,” Marty replied. “I even know how to use a weed whacker.”

“Good god, please help me then.” Dean sounded very nearly desperate.

Under Marty’s expert tutelage, Dean had the Winchesters’ front lawn mowed in no time. Hands on her hips, Marty scanned the ragged flowerbeds.

“You might as well pull those weeds too,” Marty advised Dean, sweeping her hand over the overgrown beds. “Your mama may want to plant some flowers.”

“I doubt that,” Dean scoffed. He swallowed his scorn when he saw the look on Marty’s face. “I’ll get us some garbage bags.”

“That’s what I thought you said,” Marty agreed.

Dean left Marty in the front yard in search of leaf bags. Once he was out of sight, Marty gasped for air. She’d never been this forward with a boy in her life. Technically, teaching someone how to mow a lawn was hardly on par with kissing on the first date, but Marty felt a surge of confidence. Dean was so easy to talk to, to laugh with, and he was just so _handsome_. He looked like a movie star. But, the more they talked, the more Marty realized that Dean was more than just a handsome guy: he was a nice guy too. And funny. And smart, definitely smart.

When Dean came back with leaf bags, Marty was on her knees, yanking weeds from the flowerbeds like a champ. Marty leaned back on her heels, pushing sweaty hair off her forehead.

“C’mon, city boy,” Marty invited Dean down next to her in the dirt. “Time to get dirty.”

“Coming from anyone else, that would sound flirty,” Dean commented as he joined her. “But you made it sound like actual work.”

Marty was glad the heat of the day hid her blush. “It is work. Now start pulling.”

“Again … could be flirty and, yet, it’s not,” Dean teased. “More’s the pity.”

Marty blushed harder and this time Dean noticed. “Weeds. Now.”

Working shoulder to shoulder, Marty and Dean moved through the flowerbeds. Dean kept commenting that he was glad none of his old friends could see him digging in the dirt. Marty laughed at him when he tried desperately to yank something that turned out to be a root and not a weed. The effort he put into wrestling the root out of the ground sent him sprawling onto his bottom when the root finally gave way. Both Dean and Marty howled.

“I think it’s time for a break,” Dean suggested as he tossed his nemesis into the garbage bag. “Want some lunch?”

Marty smiled, wiping her cheeks with the backs of her wrists, leaving long streaks of dirt across her face like warpaint. Dean was pretty sure he’d never seen anything cuter.

“I’m starving,” Marty admitted.

“C’mon.” Dean stood and offered his hand down to Marty.

Popping her onto her feet threw Marty a little off-balance and she bumped into Dean’s broad chest. Dean caught her before she could really stumble, holding her arms to steady her. Freezing at his touch, Marty looked up into Dean’s face. Even Dean looked a little surprised at this new development.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

“Hey,” Marty whispered back.

They stood there, sweaty and covered with dirt and grass clippings, for a few minutes before Dean started to lean in. Marty’s breath caught in her throat. _Was Dean Winchester going to kiss her?_ Suddenly panicked, Marty pulled herself free of Dean’s grasp.

“Lunch?” she asked, her voice cracking.

“Right. Food,” Dean agreed abruptly before letting out a short huff of breath and walking toward the house.

Marty couldn’t tell if Dean was mad or disappointed until he turned around to glance back at her.

“You coming in for lunch, Marty?” he asked.

Marty smiled and followed him into the house. Perched on a kitchen stool at the counter, Marty watched as Dean moved easily around the kitchen, making sandwiches and pouring drinks.

“You done this before?” she asked.

“I make lunch all the time,” Dean replied.

“Most guys can barely boil water,” Marty said. “At least most guys I know of.”

“Yeah, well, guys like that are mostly worthless then,” Dean said, leaning against the counter across from her.

“My dad’s like that,” Marty said.

Dean snorted. “Why am I not surprised?”

Marty bristled a little at the slight against her father. Dean noticed her change in demeanor, but didn’t bother to apologize for what he said. In fact, he went on.

“All guys should learn how to take care of themselves. Sitting around while women wait on them or being ignorant on how to run a washing machine isn’t manly. It’s Neanderthalian.”

“Is that even a word?” Marty asked.

“Sure it is,” Dean replied, smiling.

Marty giggled.

“Now, tell me about this big church picnic you’re being forced into planning,” Dean said. “It sounds arduous.”

“It is,” Marty agreed before launching into a long story about the Picnic Planning Committee.

Dean watched Marty tell her story. Away from her parents and her normal environment, Marty became a totally different person: out-going, animated, and funny. She was _so_ funny, doing impressions of the random church ladies. Dean didn’t even know who they were but she had him laughing nonetheless.

“Ready to go finish the yard?” Marty asked.

Dean looked down at his empty plate. “I’m ready to take a nap.”

“Lazy,” Marty teased. “We’re almost done.”

Dean and Marty headed back outside. The front yard looked like a war zone of pulled weeds in piles and dead flower plants. Dean shot Marty a look.

“You liar,” he teased. “This place looks terrible.”

“It’ll look great. I promise.” Marty crossed her heart with her pinky.

Back on their knees in the dirt, shoulder to shoulder as they worked and laughed, neither Dean or Marty noticed the Deborah Weber had come home from her day of errands and was standing on the Weber front porch, weighed down by shopping bags.

“Hey,” Dean said suddenly.

“Hmmm?” Marty replied, looking over at him. A lock of hair fell over her face and she tried to blow it out of her eyes.

Dean reached out with one finger and pushed the hunk of wet, red hair out of the way. Marty’s stomach did a flip at his touch.

“Thanks for the landscaping lesson,” Dean said.

“You’re welcome.” Marty was shocked her voice sounded so steady since her insides were a roller coaster of terror and panic.

“I’d like to kiss you,” Dean said. “Can I? Kiss you, I mean?”

Marty’s swallowed, feeling a myriad of emotions. Dean waited for her answer, a small smile playing across his lips.

“Yes,” Marty whispered, feeling extremely bold.

Dean leaned over. Marty closed her eyes as he approached. If she couldn’t see him, she couldn’t pull away in a panic. Her lips parted in anticipation. When Dean’s mouth touched hers, Marty repressed a gasp. Dean lips moved slightly against hers and Marty’s lips responded without her even thinking about it.

The kiss was soft and slow and sweet, everything a first kiss should ever be. It lasted for seconds. It lasted for an eternity. All Marty knew was that when their very first kiss ended, she was more than sure that she would gladly kiss Dean Winchester for the rest of her life.

Across the street, Deborah Weber let herself into the house. She knew she'd just witnessed her daughter's first tentative steps down the path of young love and Deborah Weber was more afraid of that knowledge than she wanted to admit.


	10. Chapter 10

The next meeting of the Picnic Planning Committee was at Barbara Tillinger’s house. One of the few things Deborah and Marty Weber could both agree on was the Barbara Tillinger was not someone they would have associated with if she didn’t belong to their church. She was just _mean_. Plain and simple.

Less than halfway through the meeting, Marty felt her phone vibrate in her pocket. Knowing Ruby was right next to her, texting pictures of her legs to Sam, Marty wondered who could be messaging her.

_hey, ginger. whatcha doin’?_

Marty gasped. Dean.

_i’m at a picnic meeting._

_how’s that going?_

_terribly. so boring._

_want me to come save you?_

Marty froze. Could she? Could she escape from the meeting without anyone knowing? Excuse herself to the front steps and take off when Dean pulled up? Marty grinned and turned away from everyone else to text back:

_come get me._

Walking over to her mother, Marty formulated a story: she had a headache, she was going to go home and rest. Not a total lie since the smell of 20 different types of perfume was gagging her.

“How will you get home?” Deborah asked her daughter.

“I can walk.” Marty felt her head actually start to pound at the fib.

Deborah Weber narrowed her eyes for a split second, but agreed. “Go say good bye to Mrs. Tillinger and say thank you.”

Marty rolled her eyes. “I know, Mama.”

Barbara Tillinger was holding court with a few of her friends as Marty approached her.

“... and then she said to me, ‘Barbara, you have to make that ambrosia salad for the picnic.’ As if I wouldn’t. It’ll be the only edible dessert there.”

Marty tried not to roll her eyes again. “Mrs. Tillinger, I’m not feeling well. Thank you for having me but I’m going to leave.”

Barbara Tillinger nodded. “You weren’t looking very good when you came in.”

Marty let that comment roll off her. “Thanks again.”

Waving at Ruby, who mouthed “Where are you going?” at her, Marty headed out the front door. There was no way she was getting stuck in a conversation when Dean was nearly there. The purr of his car coming up the street sent Marty to the end of the Tillinger’s driveway. Smiling, Marty waved at Dean’s car, which was slowly crawling up the road. The car sped up to meet her. Dean turned the car around at the cul-de-sac and parked right at the end of the driveway.

“Hey, Ginger,” he greeted Marty as she opened the passenger side door and leaned in.

“Hey, pretty eyes,” Marty teased.

Marty was halfway in the car when she heard it:

_“Mary Martha Weber!”_

Marty spun around and saw her mother on the front sidewalk of the Tillinger house. Crowded behind her was the entire Picnic Planning Committee, including Ruby who was grinning like a maniac.

“What are you _doing_?” Deborah Weber’s shocked and panicked voice hit Marty’s ears like a shotgun blast.

Frozen for a half a second, Marty looked at her mother and Planning Committee. Then she looked at Dean, who smiled at her easily with those full lips, his green eyes amused at the whole situation. She bit her bottom lip as she smiled back at him before turning back to her mother.

“Sorry, Mama,” Marty said. “But I gotta go.”

“ _Mary Martha!_ ” Deborah Weber yelled as Ruby howled, “You go on, girl!”

Marty slammed the car door behind her, giggling wildly. “Drive, Dean! Drive!”

Dean slammed his foot down on the gas, making the car jump forward. Laughing, Marty waved at the Planning Committee boldly as they sped away down the street.

“Get back here this minute!” Deborah Weber shouted ineffectually at the back of Dean’s car. When she realized that all her shouting wasn’t going to make them turn around, Deborah turned to Ruby, who was smiling widely like a proud mentor and hissed, “This is all your fault, Ruby Schneider.”

If Ruby was taken aback by the venomous tone, she didn’t flinch.

“Not hardly,” Ruby replied smoothly.

“I would take a switch to that girl if she were my daughter,” Barbara Tillinger announced loudly. The Picnic Planning Committee murmured in assent. “Who knows what kind of trouble she gets into with that boy.”

Deborah Weber turned to Barbara Tillinger in a fury, but Linny Schneider laid a hand on her shoulder. With a decidedly stern glare at the church women, Linny Schneider hushed them all with a simple statement,

“He that is without sin among you, let him first cast a stone at her.”

Marty looked across the front seat at Dean. He was smiling and shaking his head at her bravery.

“I can’t believe you did that, Marty,” he was saying cheerfully.

“Daddy’s gonna take a belt to me when I get home,” Marty said, only half kidding.

Dean’s mirth was immediately gone. “If he does that, you come to my house right away.”

Marty was surprised at his sudden intensity. “Dean?” she asked, confused.

“You hear me, Ginger?” Dean insisted. “If he lays a hand on you, you get your ass over to me.”

“Okay, Dean,” Marty agreed. “But Daddy’s never hit me. Not even once.”

“I’m gonna make sure it stays that way too.”

“Dean, you’re kinda creeping me out.”

Dean smiled at Marty and reached his arm out to her. “Sorry, Ginger. Come here.”

Marty slid across the bench seat of Dean’s car to curl up under his arm. Dean kissed the top of her head. Marty tucked her cheek against the hollow of shoulder. Marty had never been this close to a guy before and the thrill of it--the clean, hot smell of him, the feel of his muscles under his shirt, the warmth of his skin--was enough to send her into blushing convulsions of attraction.

“So, where to?” Dean asked as he drove down the highway, unaware of the not so sweet thoughts of kissing Marty was having. “I don’t know what’s around here.”

“Nothing’s around here,” Marty admitted. “Just drive for a little while.”

Dean’s green eyes met Marty’s hazel ones. “Anything you say, Ginger.”

It was dark when Marty and Dean pulled up in front of their houses. Exchanging a glance, Dean raised Marty’s hand to his lips.

“You sure you don’t want me to come with you?” he asked her.

“I’m sure.” Marty had been ignoring her phone all day long. Constant calls and texts let her know her parents were furious and panicked at her completely out of character behavior.

“Marty …” Dean’s voice was hushed and more than a little worried.

“Dean, I’ll be fine.”

“You know what to do if you’re not.”

Marty nodded, smiling a little. “I come right to you.”

“ _Right_ to me, Marts,” Dean said.

Dean walked Marty to the bottom of her driveway. As soon as they reached it, James and Deborah Weber burst onto their front porch.

“Mary Martha, you get yourself into this house at once!” James Weber’s voice pierced the quiet night like a cannon shot.

Marty and Dean paused, still holding hands. Across the street, Mary Winchester, with Sam nipping at her heels, had appeared on her front steps also.

“Dean,” she called gently.

Marty squeezed Dean’s fingers, looking up at him serenely.

“Mary Martha!” James Weber barked again as Mary Winchester’s not very gentle anymore voice called “Dean!” a little more sharply.

“We’ll both be fine,” Marty told Dean.

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Dean told her.

“I love that you’re so worried,” Marty told him. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“No, you won’t,” Deborah Weber snapped.

Marty swung around to face her parents. “Oh, yes. I absolutely will.”

With a final squeeze of Dean’s fingers, Marty strutted (there was no other way to describe her walk, Dean decided) past her parents and into their house. Right before they shut the door behind her, Marty tossed a look over her shoulder at Dean and threw him a kiss.

Once in the house, though, Marty’s brave facade crumbled. Her whole body shook in fear at the rage in her father’s face. She stood in the middle of the living room with her hands clasped in front of her as James Weber paced the room. He circled her a few times, trying to contain his anger.

“I have no idea what’s going on with your behavior, Mary Martha,” James Weber finally began, his voice clipped, “but your mother and I will not tolerate it.”

“Daddy--”

“You will remain silent until I am finished.”

Marty bit her tongue, but she was starting to feel a seething rage come over her. Why was she being lectured? Because she decided to run off with her … whatever Dean was … instead of sit through another boring meeting? Girls do that kind of thing every day. Why was she the Whore of Babylon for being a teenage girl?

While her father ranted and paced and quoted Scripture, Marty studied her sandals. There was nothing she could say to her father to stop his lecture. Best to just stand in one place, staring contritely at her feet, then look up and say “I’m so sorry, Daddy” to end the diatribe. But, when James Weber stopped talking to take a breath and add “What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?”, Marty peered up at her father. She narrowed her eyes disdainfully.

“For a Christian, Daddy, you don’t take a very Christian outlook on other people,” Marty said clearly. “What happened to Mark 12:31? “The second is this: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ There is no commandment greater than these.” Or Luke 6:35? “But love your enemies, do good to them, and lend to them without expecting to get anything back. Then your reward will be great, and you will be sons of the Most High, because he is kind to the ungrateful and wicked.” I’m so sad for you, Daddy, that you won’t even try to know Dean and see what a decent man he is.”

James Weber’s whole self quivered in indignation. “Who do you think you’re speaking to, young lady?”

Marty raised her chin. The courage she felt had nothing to do with knowing Bible verses. It had everything to do with knowing she was right. She was _finally_ right.

“I’m speaking to you, Daddy. And you, Mama.” Marty glanced Deborah Weber’s way. “You always taught me to find the good in every person and love them as Jesus loves us. But you don’t even want to try to love Dean Winchester. You have no idea the kind of kindness he’s capable of because you refuse to even deign yourself to know him.”

“GO TO YOUR ROOM!” James Weber roared, pointing up the staircase.

Marty nodded. “Of course, Daddy.”

As she turned on her heel, Marty’s insides were a twisted knot of shame, pride, and guilt. How could she talk to her parents like that? One ride in Dean Winchester’s sleek black car, cuddled up under his strong arm, listening to the beat of his heart as she rested her head on his body and she’s a terrible, adder-tongued daughter. A viper in the nest of her parents’ home.

Halfway up the stairs, Marty turned to apologize to her father and saw him glaring up at her with such a mixture of revulsion and anger, all Marty could do was snort derisively at him and head into her room. It was then Marty knew that her father, the best man she’d ever known who loved God and his family, was nothing more than a regular man. A regular man with a heart full of hate for a man with a heart full of love.

She’d never been sadder in her life at that discovery.


	11. Chapter 11

Dean walked right past Mary Winchester and into the kitchen. Mary followed him, getting angrier by the minute. Sam brought up the rear, ignoring Ruby’s text alert on his phone.

“Dean? Dean. _Dean_!” Mary snapped.

Dean pulled his head out of the fridge to look at his mother. “Yes?”

“What. The. Hell?” Mary’s voice gave away all her emotions with that one sentence.

“I picked her up and we went for a ride,” Dean answered simply. “It’s not my fault her parents are insane with religion and see demons around every corner.”

“Oh, my god, Dean” Mary groaned, sinking onto a kitchen stool. “We’ve been here for two weeks.”

“Three weeks,” Sam volunteered.

“You’re not helping,” Dean told his brother. “Please stop trying to help.”

Sam shrugged. “Just sayin’.”

“Well, stop,” Dean ordered. Turning back to Mary, Dean said, “We didn’t do anything wrong. She didn’t want to stay at some picnic meeting, so I went and got her. Then we went for a drive. _Nothing happened_.”

“Dean, you swear nothing happened?” Mary sounded so distressed, Dean went over to her and hugged her.

“Mom, I swear,” he reassured her. “All I did was put my arm around her. This girl’s so pure, woodland creatures probably follow her around, doing household chores for her.”

Mary slapped Dean’s chest and he jumped back, letting go of her. “Now _you’re_ not helping.”

“Can we all just agree that none of us are helping the other person and move on?” Sam asked, hopping up on the counter.

“Get down,” Mary ordered as Dean continued, “Mom, this girl’s just … I dunno. She’s just right.”

“Look, I don’t care if she is Snow White and you’re Prince Charming,” Mary said. “Don’t do anything …”

Mary paused, struggling to find the right word, as her sons watched, trying not to laugh.

“Untoward?” Dean asked.

“Unsavory?” Sam asked.

“Un-Christian?” Dean asked.

“Horny?” Sam asked.

“Samuel Winchester!” Mary scolded, but then laughed. “Oh, my god, you two. Please, please, please, Dean, just use your head-- _brain_! Use your brain.”

“Yes, Dean, please. Use your brain. The bigger one that’s two feet above your ass,” Sam snickered.

Dean opened his mouth to make a rude comment, but Mary’s face stopped him. He clamped his lips shut and shoved Sam, who shoved him back. The shoving would have continued if Mary hadn’t given them a Really Scary Mom Look.

“Boys, please. You’re going to make me go grey,” Mary begged.

“What? I didn’t do anything wrong!” Sam protested.

“ _Yet_ ,” Dean chimed in, antagonizing like only a big brother can. “Remember, I’ve met Ruby. She’s built for sin.”

Mary put her face in her hands. “Oh, dear sweet god.”

“Mom, if you wanna go to pray, I heard there’s an opening on the Picnic Planning Committee at Marty’s church. I’m sure she can get you on it in her place,” Dean offered, sounding earnest.

Mary shot Dean a look before dissolving into a weary laugh. “I’m going to bed. Good night, you two.”

“Mom. Wait a minute.” Dean followed Mary halfway up the stairs. “Mom, you know I’m not going to do anything, right?”

“Aren’t you, Dean?” Mary asked carefully. “I’m not completely ignorant of your social life in Chicago.”

Dean, at least, had the decency to blush and he did so, prettily. “Mom, come on …”

“I was serious, Dean, when we first got here. I don’t need you trying to prove yourself.” Mary reached out and touched her son on the arm. “I love you, angel. You can be a man without conquests.”

Dean bristled. Conquests?

“Is that all you think I am, Mom?” he asked angrily. “Just some mindless animal, banging everything I see?”

“No, I know you’re not. And don’t you talk to me like that.” Mary’s eyes blazed.

Dean raised his chin and gave Mary a quick, condescending glare, looking so much like John Winchester that Mary took a step away from him.

“Good night, angel,” she said quietly and headed upstairs into her room.

Unsure of what happened, Dean joined Sam downstairs on the couch. Sam was texting Ruby while grinning like a fool.

_Built for sin,_ Dean thought as he turned on the TV.

A chime from his pocket had Dean scrambling for his phone. He’d almost forgotten Marty because of the talk with his mom.

_meet me at the window_

Dean was at his window behind the closed door of his bedroom in less than a minute. Marty was already there. She was ready for bed in a nightgown and a long braid of red hair over one shoulder. She waved when she saw him and held up her phone. Dean sat down in the easy chair, looking out the window at Marty. She sat down too, putting her feet up on the windowsill.

_hey, ginger_

_hey, pretty eyes_

_everything go okay?_

Dean saw Marty grimace as she read the text. She looked at him and shrugged, making a gag face. Dean laughed.

_not really. daddy is so mad at me but i don’t care._

_mad how?_

_there was yelling_

_did he hit you?_

Marty looked up from her phone and caught Dean’s eyes. He couldn’t tell from the distance, but Dean could tell she was thinking long and hard about her answer. She looked back down.

_no_

_you sure?_

_i’m pretty sure my father didn’t hit me. i’d be there if he did, remember?_

Dean smiled at his phone.

_that’s my ginger_

_was your mom mad?_

Dean remembered Mary’s sad face when they talked on the stairs. He know she wasn’t woefully unaware of his “social life” as she called it, but he didn’t realize how much of it she knew. There was no need to share that with the sweet and innocent Marty.

_she’s more sad. she doesn’t want the whole town to hate us._

Marty shook her head, rolling her eyes.

t _hey won’t. you have me and ruby to make you respectable._

_i’m not counting on ruby._

_you should. she’s the pastor’s daughter._

_what’s that got to do with anything?_

_here? it’s everything._

Marty suddenly looked over her shoulder. Dean watched as she jumped up, got into bed, and turned off her light.

_dad coming?_

_someone’s coming._

Dean tried not to think about Marty in her little summer nightgown, curled up in bed with her phone, texting. The visual was just too sexy. A beam of dull light lit up Marty’s dark room as her door opened. Dean watched as the light disappeared as the door shut again.

_you still there?_

_yeah. it was mama._

_she mad too?_

_mama? nah. she’s too concerned about my soul to be mad._

_your soul?_

_sure. i’m falling in love, so i’m going to lose my soul_

Falling in love. Dean tried to ignore the three words, but they wouldn’t go away. Falling in love. Oh, shit.

_are you?_

_what?_

_falling in love_

_hardly. i’ve only known you for 3 weeks_

Dean leaned back in his chair, sighing with relief. Oh, thank frigging god. He couldn’t even imagine the shitstorm that would blow up if that statement was true.

_i’m sleepy. thanks for rescuing me today_

_anytime, ginger_

_night, dean_

_night_

Dean stood up and stretched. It was still pretty early, but with nothing to watch on TV and Marty going to sleep, nothing was stopping Dean from hitting the mattress with a book.

Three chapters into Adams’ _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_ had Sam knocking on Dean’s door. Without waiting for a reply, Sam came in, looking pensive.

“Are you and Mom cool?” he asked with no preamble.

“Come on in, Sammy,” Dean replied sarcastically.

“Are you?” Sam asked again.

“Sure,” Dean answered. “Why?”

“No reason,” Sam said which in Sam Language meant “every reason.”

“Talk to me, Sammy,” Dean said.

“It’s just …” Sam’s eyes looked troubled as he played with his phone. “The look you gave Mom … on the stairs? You looked just like Dad and I think you scared her.”

Dean felt like he’d been hit in the stomach, a feeling he knew rather well. “Did I?”

Sam nodded. “You did.”

“Fuck,” Dean swore, running a hand over his short hair.

“Maybe you should, ya know, apologize tomorrow,” Sam suggested.

“Yeah, Sammy. I will. Thanks.”

Sam got up, the worry playing across his face betraying his actual age despite his height.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“What really happened that night?”

Dean knew what night Sam meant, but he needed to stall for time.

“What night?” Dean asked.

“The night Dad … left.”

Dean looked down at the book in his lap and studied the words on page before answering.

“I’ll tell you when you’re 18,” he replied.

Sam shook his head, his shaggy brown hair flopping over his forehead. “No. You’ll tell me tomorrow when Mom’s at work.”

Dean bit back a retort. There was no getting around it. Mary was never going to tell Sam anything, so the task of telling Sam The Big Winchester Family Secret was now on his shoulders.

“Fine. Tomorrow,” Dean agreed quietly. “Then you’ll know and you’ll stop being a pain in the ass about it.”

“Swear I will,” Sam promised, his voice a mix of excitement and disgust (at his excitement). “Is it bad?”

Dean nodded, his mouth suddenly very dry and the contents of his stomach at the back of his throat. “Really bad.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is riddled with triggers. I'm not making light of ANYONE with a history of abuse, but I would err on the side of caution when reading this chapter.

Mary Winchester’s car was out of the driveway less than five minutes when Sam burst into Dean’s room. The sound of his door crashing open jerked Dean out of a dream about Marty in a bikini laying on a beach.

“Jesus Christ!” Dean exclaimed as Sam demanded, “Tell me what happened.”

Dean scrubbed his hand over his face, feeling the scruff of his unshaven cheek against his palm. Sam stood in his doorway, in basketball shorts and a t-shirt, looking rumpled and like he hadn’t slept all night.

“Can you let me wake up at least?” Dean asked.

“No,” Sam snapped. “Tell me right now.”

“Fuck, Sammy,” Dean groaned, flopping back against his pillows. “Let me take a leak and get some coffee.”

Sam glared at Dean and left the room, yelling, “I’m making your coffee!” after him. Dean groaned again. As slowly as possible, Dean climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, scratching the back of his head. There was no way to get out of anything now. Sam wasn’t going to give up on his demand and Dean knew that Mary wasn’t going to tell Sam anything until he was 35, so …

Dean sighed. Crap. Being the grown-up sucks.

Downstairs, Sam is at the counter, glaring at Dean as Dean moved around the kitchen, making his coffee. Knowing he couldn’t put it off any longer, Dean sighed again and turned to his younger brother.

“All right, listen, you cannot let Mom know I told you all this,” Dean said. “She didn’t tell me until I was 18.”

“I’m not gonna,” Sam sounded petulant, like a sulky child, which Dean chose to ignore.

“So, some of this stuff I remember--like from when I got older--and some of this stuff is from when Mom told me,” Dean began. “I still can’t believe she told me anything but I was like you: I couldn’t respect her privacy and I thought I was entitled to know.”

“Fine.” Sam rolled his eyes. “Just tell me.”

“So, you know Mom and Dad got married real young, right? Like Mom was 20 and Dad was 21. But Mom didn’t have any family--her parents were dead--and Dad didn’t talk to his family, so there was no one telling them to wait until they got older or knew each other better or whatever. And, uh, they had a good marriage for the first couple years. Dad was working as a mechanic and Mom was going to nursing school and then Mom graduated and got a job at the hospital. They had me when Mom was working at the hospital but Dad had lost his job and he wasn’t really excited about being a dad when he couldn’t support his wife and baby. But Mom told him that they were okay, ya know, because she was still working. Dad found a job again, part time, which was good because Mom was working really long hours once I was born and they couldn’t afford a sitter all the time for me.

“They were back on their feet and Mom found out she was having you and this time, Dad was excited because they had money coming in and things weren’t as tight. They were gonna buy a house and move out of the city, but houses were expensive and Mom didn’t want to break the bank account right when they were gonna have another baby. But Dad really wanted a house and they started to fight about money more than before. So you come along and Dad’s pretty much home all the time with us because he got fired. He was pissed that he had to be a stay-at-home dad, so he started drinking.”

“Get to the point, Dean,” Sam interrupted.

“Look, you need to hear the backstory,” Dean snapped.

“I don’t need backstory,” Sam insisted. “I need to know what happened.”

“This is the way I heard it, so this is the way you’re gonna hear it.” Dean gulped his coffee. He needed to stop stalling and get to the point. “You can’t just know what happened that day, you gotta know why.”

“Fine,” Sam agreed shortly.

“So, this is what Mom tells me because I was five and I don’t remember what happened from when I was five,” Dean continued. “I remember hearing them fighting, but I don’t remember what happened exactly. We were in our room …” Dean shook his head, trying to recall everything Mary told him about the night that the Winchester family started falling apart. “So, Dad didn’t have a job and he was taking care of us all the time. Mom said he was doing a pretty crappy job of it--not giving us healthy food and not giving us baths as much as he probably should and letting us watch TV for hours. I was five and you were three and we were turning into wild children. Mom came home from work one night and we were still up, watching cartoons but Dad was passed out on the couch. She gets us into bed, wakes Dad up, and reads him the riot act because we had been eating Lucky Charms out of the box while he was asleep.

“Dad and her go back and forth and Mom accuses him of being drunk and useless and worthless. I guess it triggered something in his head because Dad hit her. Right in the face. Busted her lip open. And … yeah …” Dean swallowed hard, remembering Mary’s face when she was telling him the story “... and that was the first time he hit her. Dad apologized for an hour, ‘I’m sorry, Mary. I’m so sorry.’ She didn’t say anything and I guess Dad figured since she didn’t say anything, she forgave him. But Mom said it was shock that made her shut up. Dad figures he has to make it up to her, so every day he leaves us with the neighbor and goes out to look for a job. Any job. Mom said he tried to hard, but he really couldn’t find anything. Mechanics are a dime a dozen, ya know, so he was fighting a ton of guys for a handful of jobs.

“Like two weeks later, Mom comes home from working second shift and it’s 11.30 at night and we’re still up. She puts us to bed, all filthy and exhausted, and Dad’s on the couch, just watching her, all drunk and mean. Mom asks him why he didn’t put us to bed at 8 o’clock and he jumps off the couch and starts wailing on her. Just wailing. She starts trying to fight back, but he’s got her on the floor and he’s standing over her and she’s begging him to stop because what if we hear them. And that’s when … that’s when I come in.”

“You?” Sam has shredded three napkins to bits on the counter in front of him. Dean can’t even look at Sam because of the pain in Sam’s eyes.

“Yeah, Sammy. I walked into the room and see Dad kicking the shit out of Mom and I run over to stop him. I remember this part, ya know? At first I thought it was a nightmare, but when Mom told me that I really did it, I remembered. I go running over and I try to grab Dad’s arm, but he’s way bigger than me and I can’t really reach, so I start kicking his legs. Mom yells ‘No, Dean!’ but I keep kicking. I’m gonna take this jerk down because he’s trying to kill my mom. Next thing I know, I’m on the floor and my head is pounding and there’s blood all over my pajamas. Right after that is when I cops show up. The neighbor lady who used to watch us when Dad looked for a job heard everything and called the cops. So they show up and arrest Dad. And, the next day, we move for the first time.

“Dad went to jail for three years because of that, Sammy. For kicking the shit out of Mom and me and resisting arrest because he tried to fight off the cops who saved us. The neighbor lady spoke up for Mom at the trial, saying how Mom worked all the time and all Dad did was drink and barely take care of us. She helped, Sam, she really helped put him away. I wish I knew who she was. I’d send her flowers every month.”

“Me too,” Sam agreed. “But, Dean, that’s not the time I’m talking about.”

Dean sighed. “I know, bro. I’m getting there. So, Mom and me and you have a great three years with Dad in jail. We start school, Mom works and goes back to school to get her BSN so she can make more money, and we’re awesome. Then Mom gets a call from the parole board, saying that Dad’s getting out and she freaks out. She’s sure that he’s gonna come after us. I mean, we put him in jail, right? So, she does what any sane person who’s terrified for her family does: she goes and buys a gun.”

“The gun she keeps in her purse and in her nightstand?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, that one. She learns how to shoot it. She teaches me and you how to dial 911 and what to say if Dad shows up and starts swinging. She takes a self-defense class. She does everything right to protect us. And it takes a few months, but Dad finds us.” Dean scrubbed his hand over his face as the memories of that day come back to him. “It’s her day off, so Mom picks me and you up from school. You were so stoked because you couldn’t wait to help Mom make banana bread for your class snack. That’s all you would talk about on the way home.” Dean smiled ruefully at the memory of 6-year-old Sammy babbling happily about mashing bananas. “I was 8 and way too cool for all that, of course, but I didn’t want to be left out, so I did my homework at the kitchen table while you and Mom starting cooking. And then someone knocks on the door. Mom goes to get it and it’s Dad. She shouts ‘911, Dean! 911!’ and tries to slam the door on him, but he’s stronger than her and comes slamming in, yelling. I shove you in the cabinet under the sink and start dialing, right, like Mom showed us a million times.

“But it’s like the whole thing’s a blur. Dad drags Mom into the kitchen because he’s gonna kick the shit out of her in front of me to show us both who’s in charge. Mom’s screaming. I’m screaming. You’re screaming. He’s holding … he’s holding her … by the hair and he’s shaking her around and kicking her legs, so she keeps almost falling and then yanking her back to her feet by her hair to kick her again.” Dean’s face is soaked with tears. He looked at Sam, who’s also crying. “So I drop the phone and I launch myself on him. I’m gonna kill this fucker. I’m gonna save us. He lets go of Mom and grabs me and punches me right in the side of the head. Now _I’m_ his target, _I’m_ the one he’s gonna beat to death. He’s going to town on me, right? I’m on the floor, on my back, and he’s kneeling over me, right, just going boom boom boom.” Dean mimes roundhouse punches in the air. “I’m done screaming now and I can barely lift my arms to fight back and I’m sure I’m gonna die. And that’s when I heard it.”

“The gunshot,” Sam volunteers.

“The gunshot,” Dean agrees. “Mom got her gun out of her purse and shot Dad right in the back. Her aim sucked because she was shaking, but she hit him. Right in the shoulder blade. She was like an Amazon, covered with blood and screaming at the top of her lungs _‘Get off my son, you motherfucker!’_ I will never in a million years forget that. I’ll see Mom like that until the day I die. I told her once that I was gonna have that line carved on her tombstone. You could imagine her reaction.”

In spite of the gravity of the conversation, Sam and Dean both chuckled.

“The cops came then too. I didn’t talk to 911, but I connected to 911 and they heard everything and traced the call. The cops didn’t arrest Mom, but they took Dad to the hospital and arrested him there. They took us to the hospital too because Dad fucked me up so much and Mom filed charges against Dad and they took our pictures to document our injuries. And Dad went back to jail.”

“If Dad was in jail, why did we move around so much?” Sam asked. “I remember moving _all the time._ ”

“Because Mom was scared, Sammy,” Dean replied. “If he found us once, he could find us again. She kept us moving so he could never track us down. That’s why we don’t have a house phone, just cells. That’s why Mom has her mail go to a PO Box and not a street address.”

“That’s why we moved here,” Sam added.

Dean regarded his little brother gravely. “Yeah. And that’s why we moved here.”

“Dad got out, didn’t he.” It was a statement, not a question.

“He did.”

Sam’s face grew pensive. He scanned the kitchen as he considered their situation. Dean was sure he’d never seen his brother look so serious before.

“Are we safe? Do you think we’re safe?” Sam asked simply.

Dean nodded. “I think we are.”

“Even with Dad out of jail? You sure, man?”

Dean swallowed. There was no way he was telling Sam anything else. Sam had learned enough about The Big Winchester Family Secret for the time.

“Yeah, Sammy,” Dean answered, his mouth and throat dry. “I’m sure.”


	13. Chapter 13

Marty dipped her toes into Ruby’s pool, wiggling them in the cold water. Next to her, Ruby was slathered from head to toe in tanning accelerator lotion and wearing a bathing suit that would make Deborah Weber throw holy water on her.

“Could it get any hotter?” Ruby asked suddenly.

“I don’t think so,” Marty admitted.

“I think it can,” Ruby said. Her red fingernails tapped the screen of her phone absently.

Marty’s breath caught in her throat. “What did you do?”

Ruby peeked at Marty from under her sunglasses. “Nothing.”

“You liar.”

Ruby sat up. “Marty, I am completely offended by the implication that I’ve fibbed to you.” Ruby would have went on if the unmistakable sound of Dean’s car wasn’t roaring up the street.

“Ruby Schneider!” Marty cried out, covering herself with a beach towel.

Ruby snatched the towel away and flung it away, across the cement patio surrounding her parents’ built-in pool. Marty recoiled at the annoyance on Ruby’s face.

“Stop it!” Ruby hissed. “Stop it right now. They’re here and you’re just gonna have to tit up some courage and get over yourself.”

Marty swallowed, looking down at her modest, flowered one piece swimsuit. “But this thing is so ugly.”

“Go change. Put on one of my bikinis. Now.” Ruby pointed into the house as Dean’s car turned off out front. Ruby gave Marty’s shoulder a shove. “ _Go_ !”

Marty rushed into the house as the back gate squeaked open. In Ruby’s room, Marty stripped off her swimsuit. She could hear the boys’ voices as they settled down in the chairs by the pool. Ruby was laughing and flirting. Taking a peek out Ruby’s bedroom window as she pulled the straps of Ruby’s least revealing two piece swimsuit over her shoulders, Marty saw that Sam had claimed the lounge chair next to Ruby. Dean had taken a white plastic chair near the picnic table, far away from the hormones that were once Ruby and Sam. Dean glanced up at Ruby’s house, probably wondering where Marty was. Marty’s stomach fluttered at the idea that Dean was waiting to see her.

There was no way she could go downstairs again in Ruby’s sexy two piece with her hair done up in two braids like Laura Ingalls. Yanking her hair, still damp from her shower, out of its braids gave Marty the confidence to leave Ruby’s room and head back outside.

Pausing in the doorway to the backyard, Marty called out, “Anyone want anything from the kitchen?”

Ruby, Sam, and Dean turned to face her. The only thing that trumped Ruby’s surprised, then proud, face was the shocked look on Dean’s. He shifted in his chair, looked away for a split second, and then got up. He walked over to her, his long bowlegs making the trip from poolside to back door in record time.

“C’mon, Ginger,” he said, taking her elbow as he smiled down at Marty easily. “Let’s get some drinks.”

In the kitchen, Dean leaned against the counter with his arms crossed over his chest, watching as Marty attempted to grab glasses and a bottle of soda from the fridge and cover herself with the fridge door at the same time. After several abortive attempts at modesty, Marty turned to Dean and laughed.

“This isn’t my swimsuit,” she admitted.

“You’re kidding,” Dean deadpanned.

One hand on her hip and one still on the open refrigerator door, Marty did a sassy little pose.

“What do you think?” she asked.

Dean’s arched one eyebrow. “Not bad, Ginger. It suits you.”

Not a total truth since Ruby had more curvature than Marty, making the suit a little looser than it should have been, but Dean didn’t seem to care about that. Marty closed the fridge behind her as Dean came across the kitchen to her. Pressing her against the door, Dean took Marty’s face in his hands and kissed her.

Their second kiss had more urgency than their first. Dean’s tongue flicked over Marty’s lips, prompting her to start a little, then relax against him. Marty’s arms slipped effortlessly around his waist, her hands resting against his spine. The ridges of Dean’s back muscles moved under his thin t-shirt. More interesting than his back was Dean’s tongue, which had cleverly slipped between Marty’s parted lips and was flicking about in her mouth. A little whimper rose, unbidden, from Marty’s throat.

Dean’s hands traveled from her face and into her red hair before coming to rest on her waist, pulling Marty’s hips closer to him. The kiss seemed to go on forever, making Marty weak in the knees, the ankles, the elbows. Pretty much all her joints. The height difference between the two was large enough that Dean pulled away first to breath and straighten his back. Marty kept her eyes closed and her lips open as she caught her breath. Not completely ignorant to the workings of makeout sessions, Marty opened her hazel eyes and smiled up at Dean.

“What?” Dean asked.

“Kiss me again,” Marty replied.

“Really now,” Dean commented.

“Kiss me again. Please.”

Dean’s next kiss was even more intense. The coldness of the refrigerator seeped into the fabric of Marty’s swimsuit, contrasting with the burning of her skin. Dean danced his tongue around Marty’s, clearly enjoying the way her hands clung to the back of his shirt. Pulling his lips off hers, he moved his mouth over her face, dropping soft kisses on her closed eyes, the corners of her mouth, and then against her ear. The tickle of his hot breath in her ear made Marty gasp out loud.

“That tickles,” she whispered breathlessly.

“I know,” he murmured against the sensitive skin behind her earlobe.

“Dean …” Marty whispered as his fingers hooked around the thin waistband of her bikini bottom. “Don’t do that.”

“I won’t,” Dean promised quietly. “We’re just kissin’, Ginger.”

As innocent as that comment sounded, Dean’s body was telling Marty a whole other story. Marty moved a few inches back from Dean, but he followed her nonetheless. There wasn’t a lot of room to escape from his grasp, so Marty considered ducking under his arm to get away. One look at Dean’s handsome face, his intense green eyes, his adorable freckles, made Marty change her mind. She reached up to kiss him herself, but the back door slamming open broke the spell.

“How long does it take to get a bottle of soda?” Sam asked. He drew himself up short when he saw Dean and Marty tangled around each other against the fridge.

“Sammy …” Dean’s voice held a warning edge.

Sam grinned. “Sorry, brah. But me and Ruby are thirsty.”

Marty broke away from Dean then, using Sam as a distraction. She grabbed the plastic Kentucky Wildcats tumblers and headed back outside with a quick backwards glance Dean’s way. Once she was gone, Dean leaned his head against the fridge, groaning.

“You feelin’ okay?” Sam clapped his brother on the back.

“That girl is going to kill me,” Dean replied.

Outside, Ruby snickered at her best friend’s flushed face.

“Oh, good,” Ruby said as Marty flung herself into the chair Sam had vacated, “I thought he would have sucked your face off by now.”

“Shut up,” Marty flung back. “Your top is barely on.”

Ruby shrugged carelessly. “I don’t want tan lines.”

“More like you don’t want Sam to miss a view.”

Ruby raised her eyebrows. “I think my bikini gave you a little sass.”

Marty giggled. “I think that’s it.”

“Is he a good kisser?” Ruby asked suddenly.

“He must be,” Marty admitted. “He made me make a moany sound. It’s not like I’ve ever kissed anyone else.”

Ruby put her fingers over her mouth for a split second. “Holy crap. That’s right. Dean’s the _first kiss_.”

“Shh! I don’t want him to know!” Marty hissed frantically.

“Right, like he couldn’t figure that out,” Ruby snorted.

Marty stuck her tongue out at Ruby and sat the pool’s edge to dangle her legs in the water. The boys coming back outside with the bottle of soda, shutting both girls up. Dean and Marty smiled at each other--Marty shyly, Dean not so much. Dean joined Marty at the edge of the pool.

Dean hissed as he slid his legs into the water. “Damn, that’s cold. How can you stand it?”

“It’s so hot. Doesn’t it feel good?” Marty dribbled a handful of water over his knees.

Dean side-eyed Marty through his long black eyelashes. “It feels amazing.”

Marty was pretty sure Dean wasn’t talking about the pool.

Sam suddenly leaped over Dean’s head, catching his brother in the shoulder to drag him into the pool. With both boys in the water, Ruby and Marty exchanged a laugh and dove in too. Ruby clambered onto a raft and floated around, soaking up the sun. Sam flipped her off the raft back into the water, which prompted Ruby to dunk him. Away from the playful splashing, Marty and Dean leaned side by side on another raft together. They drifted along, their legs tangled together under water, foreheads touching, as they exchanged small, swift kisses. Across the pool, Sam and Ruby had decided that Ruby perching on Sam’s lap on the pool steps while they made out was way more entertaining than trying to drown each other.

“I dig you, Ginger,” Dean told her.

“I like you a lot, too,” Marty replied.

“You’re different than most girls I’ve known.”

Marty snorted. “I bet.”

Dean gave her a surprised glance. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Please,” Marty scoffed. “I’m sure I’m the first girl who hasn’t fallen into the backseat of your car with her clothes half-off.”

“Uh … wow … okay …” Dean was caught off-guard.

Marty clamped her mouth shut, her skin suddenly flushed as red as her hair. “I’m sorry,” she choked out.

“Don’t be,” Dean assured her. “That’s a pretty accurate description.”

“Is it?” Marty asked. “How … accurate?”

“Pretty.” Dean wasn’t saying very much else.

“I see.” Marty tried not to let her imagination run wild.

“Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies,” Dean quipped.

“So, you would lie to me?” Marty asked.

“Not lie,” Dean admitted. “But I don’t kiss and tell.”

Marty gave Dean’s shoulder a shove with her shoulder. “Don’t most guys kiss and tell?”

Dean shrugged. “I’m not most guys. I was raised better than that.”

“I know. I’ve met your mother.”

Dean smiled at the mention of Mary. Marty leaned over impulsively and kissed his shoulder.

“You’re a good man, Dean Winchester,” she whispered.

Dean leveled Marty with a long, smoky stare. “I’m as good a man as the woman I’m with.”

Marty felt her chest tighten, but her voice was completely normal as she replied, “That sounds promising.”

“Want to be my good woman?” Dean asked.

“What?” Marty’s voice was a surprised squeak, anything but normal.

“Girlfriend? Boyfriend? You? Me?” Dean’s tone was teasing, but his face was deadly serious.

“If I say yes, Dean, the problems that we’ll face are … are insurmountable,” Marty replied.

“Nothing is insurmountable,” Dean argued. “Especially not issues like how your parents feel about me.”

Marty bristled a little. “They’re still my parents, Dean.”

Dean nodded, then splashed water at Marty. “I know. But sometimes, Ging, you gotta do what feels right for you. Not what other people think is right for you.”

Marty leaned over and kissed Dean, which startled him. When the kiss ended, Marty laid her forehead against Dean’s.

“So, boyfriend, will you pick me up at 7 o’clock for a movie?”

“Nope. I’ll pick you up at 5 o’clock for dinner and a movie.”

Marty’s lips curled into a sweet smile. “I can’t wait for the movie.”

Dean flicked a wet lock of hair over Marty’s sunburnt shoulder. “I can’t wait for the reaction.”

“To the movie?” Marty teased.

“To us,” Dean replied softly.


	14. Chapter 14

Marty dropped her bike on the front steps and walked into her house. Floated actually. She had a boyfriend. Not just _any_ boyfriend: _Dean Winchester_ was her boyfriend. He was handsome and smart and kind and funny and different. He was _so_ different from any other guy she’d ever known. Nothing could spoil her good mood.

“Oh, good. You’re home.” Deborah Weber popped out of the kitchen and smiled at her daughter. “Come help me make dinner?”

Marty’s smile slipped off her face. Darn. Her parents. She’d completely forgotten about her parents.

“There goes my good mood,” Marty whispered to herself, then giggled.

“What, Mary Martha?” Deborah Weber asked.

“Nothing, Mama,” Marty replied. “I’m not going to be here for dinner. I have … plans.”

“Going out with Ruby?” Deborah Weber asked, trying hard not to look disapproving as she disapproved.

“Sure,” Marty agreed. “Gotta go get ready.”

The agony of picking out a first date outfit was something Marty had never experienced. She had no idea where Dean was going to take her. Not that there were very many fancy places where they lived, but still …

Standing in front of her closet in her underwear with her hair wrapped in a towel, Marty pawed through sundresses and skirts and short sets that would make her look like a kindergartener.

Okay, forget the clothes for a minute. Marty headed over to her dresser. The few items of make-up she owned were going to be used to full effect tonight. Eyeliner, mascara, lip gloss. That was too easy. Marty leaned into her reflection. Maybe some more eyeliner? No, she had plenty on. Mascara? No, Ruby always told her too much mascara would give her spidery eyelashes. Lip gloss? No, too much lip gloss made her lips greasy. And, if her lips were too greasy when Dean kissed her ... No. Better not think about _that_ right now.

“Well, this is just ridiculous,” Marty grumbled. Looking around her room, Marty turned on her radio for some background noise to settle her nerves. The Christian station that came on did nothing to calm her jangled nerves and get her excited for her date, so Marty (after glancing over her shoulder at her closed door) turned down the volume on her radio and spun the radio dial.

A cacophony of music and noise tumbled out of the speakers. Trying to find something similar to what Dean played in his car proved difficult, so Marty chose the first station that came in clear enough. A woman’s voice, powerful and strong, surprised her:

“Well you're the real tough cookie with the long history of breaking little hearts like the one in me. That's OK, lets see how you do it. Put up your dukes, lets get down to it.”

Marty laughed hard. “That could be Dean.”

“Mary Martha!” James Weber’s voice echoed up the stairs. “Are you eating dinner with your mother and me?”

Marty glanced at her clock. It was nearly five and Dean promised to be over at five on the dot to a) pick her up and b) force her parents to accept the fact that they were dating.

“No, Daddy,” Marty called back. “I’m going out.”

No response from James Weber, so Marty finished her hair and chose the least childish outfit she could find (khaki capris, a white and yellow plaid blouse open over a white cami, and sandals). A knock on the front door made Marty leap to her feet.

Racing to the top of the staircase, Marty hit the top step just as James Weber opened the front door to find Dean standing on the other side of the screen door.

“Can I help you, son?” James Weber asked.

Dean glanced over James Weber’s head for a split second to make eye contact with Marty. James Weber turned slowly to see his daughter on the stairs. James Weber turned back to Dean, his knuckles turning white as they gripped the doorknob.

“I need to speak to you, Mr. Weber,” Dean said. He waited a beat and added, “About Marty.”  
“Who?” James Weber asked.

“Me, Daddy,” Marty answered. “I’m Marty.”

“You’re Mary Martha.” James Weber’s voice sounded slightly panicked.

“I was,” Marty said.

“Let him in, James.”

Three heads swiveled to the kitchen doorway. Deborah Weber stood there with her arms crossed. She closed her eyes for a moment, then walked to the door. Nudging James Weber out of the way, she opened the screen door for Dean to enter.

“Come in, Dean,” Deborah Weber said quietly. “Would you like something to drink?”

Dean edged past James Weber and followed Deborah into the kitchen. James had a stunned expression on his face.

“What is going on here?” he demanded.

Marty came down the stairs. She paused in front of her father.

“Progress, Daddy,” she told him before heading into the kitchen with her mother and boyfriend.

Dean was sitting at the kitchen table, a glass of sweet tea in front of him. Deborah was slicing cucumbers at the counter and tossing them into a large salad bowl.

“You should get a plastic knife with a serrated edge for cucumbers,” Dean was saying to Deborah.

“Really?” Deborah asked.

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “It’s better. It doesn’t leave a metallic taste like a steel blade can.”

“How interesting.” Deborah finished slicing and moved onto a tomato. “Any tips on tomatoes?”

Dean smiled, looking nervous. Marty could tell the two of them were desperately trying to be normal about the situation, but there was _nothing_ normal about the situation. Marty joined Dean at the table, laying her hand over his. Marty grinned at him and nodded a little. Dean raised his eyebrows, opened his eyes wide, and exhaled comically. Marty clapped a hand over her mouth to hold back her laughter.

“ _What_ is going on here?” James demanded again, barging into the kitchen.

“Dean is here to ask Mary Martha out, James,” Deborah answered before Dean could open his mouth.

“No,” James said.

“But--” Marty began.

“No. No. Absolutely not.” James was adamant.

“James, please--” Deborah placed both hands on the counter as if to steady herself for an argument.

“I forbid it.”

“Why?” Dean asked.

The simple question threw James off. He had been expecting a huge reaction, but all he received was one word.

“Because I’m the head of this house and I forbid it,” James told him.

“I thought Jesus was the head of this house,” Marty jumped in, pointing at the hand-painted sign that hung on the wall that exalted that same sentiment.

“Dang, Marty,” Dean muttered at her.

“I won’t stand for your lip, Mary Martha,” James told her.

“I’m not a bad person, Mr. Weber,” Dean said. “I’m a good student. I have a full-time job. I take care of my mother and my brother. I was taught respect and honesty.”

“But you weren’t taught about God,” James argued.

“And that automatically makes me a bad person?” Dean asked. “I know a lot of people who weren’t taught religion that are good people.” Dean met James’ eyes without flinching. “And I also met a few religious people that aren’t that great.”

Deborah sucked in a short breath while Marty looked back and forth between her father and her boyfriend. James, stunned to silence, glared at the handsome man at his kitchen table.

“Go,” Deborah said suddenly. James jerked his head in his wife’s direction. Deborah didn’t meet his glare. “Go on, you two. Just … Dean?” she asked as Dean and Marty scrambled to their feet.

“Yes, Mrs. Weber?” Dean asked.

“Please don’t bring her home later than 10.30.”

Dean nodded as Marty took his hand. “I promise, Mrs. Weber. Thank you.”

“Thank you, Mama,” Marty said.

Deborah looked at James out of the corner of her eyes. “Thank me later.”

Marty rushed across the kitchen to kiss Deborah on the cheek, then back to Dean, who took her hand as they left the house. Opening the passenger side door for Marty, Dean smiled down at her.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” he admitted.

Marty got into the car quickly. “Let’s get out of here before she changes her mind.”

Dean laughed as he joined her in the front seat. Marty turned and looked her boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. Just the word was enough to send her soaring.

“So, where are we going?” she asked.

“There’s a bar-b-q joint near work that my boss said wasn’t bad, so …” Dean shrugged.

Marty waited until they had pulled away from her house before scooting over next to Dean so he could sling one arm around her and pull her close to his side. She laid her head in the crook of his shoulder and looked up at his profile. She could never get tired of looking at his face.

“Are you staring at me?” Dean asked without taking his eyes off the road.

Marty giggled. “Maybe. You’re just so good-looking.”

“Knock it off.” Was that a pink blush appearing on Dean’s freckled cheeks?

Marty tickled Dean’s side. “Well, you are. And you know you are.”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder. “It’s a gift and a curse.”

“Oh, for goodness sake, Dean.” Marty dissolved into laughter at Dean’s bravado.

Never had Marty felt more uncomfortable in her life than when she and Dean entered the bar-b-q joint. She was sure every single pair of eyes were on them, wondering how such a plain little redhead got such a gorgeous male model-y guy.

“Is everyone staring at us?” Marty whispered to Dean after they were seated.

Dean looked up at her from his menu. His eyes softened at her worried face. Reaching across the table, Dean chuffed Marty under the chin before running his thumb over her bottom lip.

“Sure,” he replied. “You’re beautiful.”

Marty blushed, pulling her chin away. “You’re an idiot.”

Dean laughed, drawing glances from other tables. One or two women did an honest-to-goodness double take when they saw him. Marty felt a little burst of pride.

_That’s my boyfriend they’re checking out,_ she thought. The cheeky look she gave the other women was completely out of character and felt really satisfying. Especially when one of the women gave her a brief, approving head nod and wink.

Once Marty was over the fact that she was with the hottest guy in the entire city, another panicky moment set in: she had to eat in front of Dean. Oh, no. Bar-b-q meant bar-b-q sauce. Bar-b-q sauce meant mess. Mess meant … nope. Marty scanned the menu again for something sauce-less. There was no way she was going to get slathered with sauce on the first date.

“I was going to take you to the drive-in in Rockport,” Dean said after they placed their dinner orders, “but the shows don’t start until after dark and with your curfew being so early …”

“The sun will only be down for a bit,” Marty continued.

“And we’d have to leave before the movie’s over,” Dean finished. “Plus, it’s 45 minutes from here to there. Not worth the drive. I hope you’re cool with that.”

Marty smiled. “I’m cool.”

“I know. Though I wouldn’t mind laying on the hood of the car with you, watching a movie at a drive-in.” Dean’s voice caressed the words, making Marty’s spine tingle.

“Maybe when my parents are more okay with us, we can go,” Marty suggested lamely. “Or if Ruby and Sam come with us.”

Dean was holding Marty’s hand, running his middle finger in circles over her palm. His finger’s simple movement was making Marty’s whole body feel flushed. How was he doing that?

“I’d rather it just be me and you, Ginger.” Dean told her. “I think we’re old enough to date without an audience, don’t you?”

Marty opened her mouth to say something about courting and chaperones, but she looked up and saw Dean’s smoldering gaze, the full redness of his lips, felt the way his hand was holding hers as his finger rubbed her palm. The protective wall around her burgeoning sexuality began to crumble away. Dean licked his lips as his eyes lingered on her mouth before she answered. Marty’s eyes practically crossed as she watched his tongue slip in and out from between his lips. Dean flicked his gaze back up into Marty’s hazel eyes.

“I think we can do this all on our own,” Marty agreed softly.


	15. Chapter 15

Since the drive-in was out, Dean had to think quick about what he could do with Marty to fill the time between dinner ending and her ridiculous curfew. As grateful as he was over Deborah going to bat for them, an 11:30 curfew would have been a little more convenient.

“Soooo … uh …” Dean drawled as he and Marty walked back to the car. “Now what?”

“I thought the guy was in charge of planning the date,” Marty teased him lightly.

“It’s the 21st century, Ginger,” Dean replied. “Time to share the planning. What’s there to do?”

Marty thought for a second. “We can always go over to the park. It’s right on the river. We can take a walk.” Marty winked at Dean. “Work off that huge dinner you ate.”

Dean grinned. “I always eat like that.”

Marty whistled. “How do you still fit into your jeans?”

Settling into the car, Dean shot Marty a sidelong glance. “I can always take them off.”

Marty’s face exploded into a wicked red blush as she giggled. “That would be awkward.”

“For who?” Dean teased as he followed Marty’s directions to the park.

Marty smiled at her boyfriend. “Obviously not you.”

“Pants free is worry free.”

Marty burst out laughing. “I know a whole church full of people who would disagree with you about that.”

The park Marty suggested was perfect. There were benches, a sidewalk to stroll down, and--if they were feeling goofy--a playground to climb on.

“No swings?” Dean griped. “What kind of crap is that?”

“You’ll survive,” Marty insisted.

With his arm around her waist comfortably, Dean curled his thumb through a belt loop on Marty’s capris. The move brought her as close to him as he could get her as they walked. Marty slipped an arm around him, but her arm was so short and he was so broad, her arm only reached halfway. Instead of letting that deter her, Marty reached down and squeezed Dean’s butt for half a second.

“Hey!” he exclaimed. “What’s this now?”

“What?” Marty asked. “It’s a nice butt.”

“I know that,” Dean agreed. “I just didn’t expect you to fondle me so soon.”

Marty arched an eyebrow. “Did you think it would take a year or two?”

“At the very least,” Dean said.

Marty shrugged. “I guess you just make me misbehave.”

“I aim to misbehave,” Dean told her.

“By my pretty floral bonnet, Mr. Winchester,” Marty replied.

Dean stopped walking and stared down at Marty. “Did you just quote _Firefly_ at me?”

“No,” she replied cheekily. “I quoted _Firefly back_ at you.”

Dean laughed and wrapped his arms around Marty, right in the middle of the sidewalk, forcing people out for sunset strolls to move around them.

“We _can_ sit down, you know,” Marty suggested.

Dean pulled Marty close, enjoying the way her body melted against his. The way she gazed up at him, with her chin resting on his chest and her arms around his waist, her fingers playing with his belt just killed him. Never had innocence been so goddamn sexy.

“Kiss me, Dean,” she whispered.

She didn’t have to ask him twice. Holding her by the hips, Dean kissed Marty like he was dying of suffocation and she was pure oxygen. The eagerness in Marty’s response, mixed with the clumsiness of her inexperience (it didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out he was her first kiss), made Dean pull her closer. Just a tease of his tongue against her lips made Marty let out a whimper.

If Marty was any other girl, Dean would have leaned over and whispered “I can make you whimper even more” in her ear as his fingers brushed the bare skin under the waistband of her pants, but this wasn’t any other girl. This was Marty. She deserved finesse. And romance. And restraint. Lots and lots of fucking restraint. Even though--with the way Marty’s hips were moving ever so slightly against him--Dean really just wanted to throw her across the hood of the car and kiss every pink part of her he could get at … and some he couldn’t.

Dean broke the kiss before his brain could convince him that the whole Marty on the car thing was a brilliant idea. Marty opened her eyes. They were heavy-lidded and liquidy and full of what Dean prayed wasn’t lust.

“I love the way you kiss me,” she murmured up at him, her voice breathy.

_Oh, Jesus._ “I better get you home, Marts.”

Marty blinked a few times then checked her phone. “It’s only 8 o’clock.”

Dean cleared his throat. “Is it? It seems later.”

“The sun isn’t even down yet.”

“I didn’t even notice.”

Marty smiled, her lips curling lazily up in the corners. “I bet.”

_Shit damn fuck._ “Let’s grab a bench.”

The first bench Dean could find was already occupied by an older couple, so he passed it by. The last thing he needed was Marty having to cuddle against him and watch the goddamn sun set over the river. Who’s idea was this park thing, anyway? Dean ran a hand over his short, sandy brown hair. The next bench was empty. Dean parked his ass down and spread as much of his 6’1” frame over the seat as he could to keep his distance from Marty. No luck. Marty sat down practically on top of his leg, forcing him to move it over and make room. Marty tucked her legs under her and curled against Dean’s side. Sighing, Dean gave up on the idea of space and put his arm around her, pulling her closer.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Of course I am,” she replied. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Dean shifted, his jeans uncomfortably snug. “Just wondering.”

Marty smothered a giggle. “You need a minute?” she asked.

“I’m so not comfortable discussing that with you right now,” Dean said.

“You’re going to have to mention it sometime,” Marty teased.

Dean shook his head. “Nope. And we’re not having this chat. At all.”

“Spoilsport.”

_Not if you knew what I was thinking,_ Dean thought, glancing down at Marty. His vantage point gave him a clear view into her cami. _Oh, fuck. Look away, Winchester! Look away!_

The sun set painstakingly slow over the river. Dean and Marty sat mostly in silence, watching it disappear.

“I’ve never actually watched a sunset before,” Dean commented as night set in. “It was really …”

“Boring,” Marty supplied.

Dean let out a gust of breath before starting to laugh. “It really was.”

“I thought it would be so much more--I don’t know--inspiring?” Marty said as they got up to leave. “It really was like watching paint dry.”

“Don’t insult drying paint like that,” Dean insisted.

Getting up to leave, Marty wrapped both of her arms around Dean’s waist as they walked back to the car. The closeness of her made Dean immediately wonder if the rest of her was as soft as her lips. He could just imagine stripping her--Nope. Nope. Nope. Save that thought for later.

Much later.

Back in the car, after Dean tucked Marty into the passenger seat, he wasn’t really prepared for the full-on assault that happened when he got in on the driver’s side. Marty launched herself at him, catching him off-guard. Her mouth was suddenly everywhere on his face, his lips, cheeks, then his neck.

_Holy shit,_ Dean’s brain gasped. _The fuck is **this**?_

Marty’s sudden inhibition was enough to prompt Dean to action. He hastily shifted over onto the middle of the front seat and pulled her onto his lap. With Marty straddling his thighs, Dean grabbed her hips and yanked her to his chest. Marty kissed up the side of his neck to his ear, where her hot breath sent goosebumps all over his body.

“Jesus, Marty,” he moaned.

Marty’s hips rolled instinctively as she breathed “Yes, Dean?” into his ear. The feel of Marty rubbing the stiff bulge in the front of his jeans made Dean grind her hips against him harder. Marty gasped, tossing her head back to breathe. Dean ran his tongue down her throat to the exposed curve of her cleavage.

“Dean! Wait!” Marty begged breathlessly.

“Oh, god, please,” Dean groaned. "Not now."

“Dean, we--we _can’t_ ,” Marty said desperately. “Please!”

Dean leaned back, away the intoxicating girl on his lap. He knew it was going to happen--Marty stopping them in mid-makeout--but he had so been hoping to get a little further into her shirt before she did.

“Okay, Marts, it’s okay,” Dean reassured her, staring up at the car’s ceiling.

“Are you sure?” Marty sounded worried.

Dean righted his head and smiled at the nervous girl on his lap. She had that turned-on virgin look of swollen lips and disheveled hair coupled with heavy breathing and a kiss-drunk longing he knew well.

“I’m sure, baby,” Dean said, sighing. “It’s not like I’ve never been down this road before.”

Marty’s eyes narrowed. “I’m sure.”

She pulled herself from Dean’s grasp and sat back where she belonged. She balled her hands into a fist and jammed it between her knees.

“What?” Dean asked.

“I _really_ don’t need to be reminded that you’ve done all this before,” Marty told him.

“Oh, for crap’s--” Dean cut himself off before he could get any madder. “Marty, listen. I was just trying to--”

Marty swung her head, staring Dean into silence.

“I know what you were trying to do,” she told him. “You were trying to reassure me that in your _vast experience_ with sex, you’ve learned to control yourself enough not to scare away the virgins. Right?”

Dean paused for a minute, long enough to make Marty chuckle, before replying, “Yeah, you’re right.”

Marty reached out and patted Dean’s cheek. “What a lovely little Casanova you are.”

Damn. That stung. Dean grabbed her hand and kissed the palm of her hand, then her wrist, slowly.

“When you’re ready, Marty, I’ll be ready,” he told her.

Marty smiled, running her tongue over her lips, a move that made Dean’s aching crotch stir.

“You’ll know when I know,” she said softly.

“Get over here, you little minx.” Dean pulled Marty to him and buried his face in her hair.


	16. Chapter 16

The next few weeks moved quickly for Dean. Between working, hanging out with Marty, and an incredibly uncomfortable 20 minutes sitting alone with Marty’s dad in the Webers’ living room while he waited for Marty to grab a hoodie to wear at the drive-in (dude, why _did_ it take her so long? it was just a hoodie), Dean couldn’t believe it when he looked at the calendar and realized Marty’s church’s picnic was in three days.

“Shit,” he muttered as he headed to the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal.

“What’s wrong, angel?” Mary asked.

“I promised Marty I’d go to that picnic with her,” Dean replied.

“Now it’s here and you’re having second thoughts?” Mary asked.

Dean nodded. “Yeah. A little. Everyone knows we’re dating. Hell, everyone knows Sam and Ruby are dating. Why do we have to advertise it?”

“Because she’s your girlfriend, angel,” Mary told him. “And that’s what boyfriends and girlfriends do.”

“This kinda sucks,” Dean admitted.

“You’ve never had a girlfriend before, Dean,” Mary said simply. “You’ve never had to do this kind of thing before.”  
“I’d rather just take her to the movies and be done with it,” Dean grumbled.

“Sometimes you have to do things you don’t want to in a relationship.”

Dean’s chest constricted at the word ‘relationship,’ but he let it go. “Well, that really sucks.”

Mary laughed as Sam shuffled into the room, his face buried in his phone as he typed frantically. Mary and Dean watched as Sam made his way around the kitchen, getting his breakfast together without watching what he was doing and doing it all with one hand. It didn’t take a genius to figure out he was texting Ruby because that’s all Sam did these days. If he wasn’t with Ruby or talking to Ruby or kissing Ruby or shopping with Ruby or clumsily groping Ruby, he was texting Ruby.

“Sam?” Mary asked.

No reply.

“Sam.” Mary raised her voice.

No reply.

“Sam!” Mary barked.

Sam jerked his head up. “Oh. Hey.”

“Hey,” Mary said pointedly. “Do remove your face from your phone long enough to greet your family.”

Dean smothered a laugh at his mother’s extremely formal, albeit sarcastic, request.

Sam flushed. “Hi, guys.”

“Hi, Sammy,” Dean replied.

“How’s Ruby?” Mary asked.

Sam flushed even redder. “She’s fine.”

Mary arched an eyebrow. “How fine?”

“Mom!” Sam cried.

“Sam, please,” Mary said wearily. “I already have to worry about Dean’s activities.”

“Hey! I’m finally innocent!” Dean exclaimed.

“Do I have to worry about you too?” Mary finished.

Sam shook his head, his hair flicking across his forehead. “Ma, I swear. Nothing’s going on.”

“That seems to be a common theme in the Winchester house,” Dean commented. “‘I swear to god, Mom. I’m not trying to deflower the good virgin girl I’m dating.’”

“Dean Winchester!” Mary snapped, her temper finally breaking. “Do not let me hear you say that again.”

“Mom, when are you gonna trust us?” Dean asked. “Sammy isn’t doing it with Ruby--he’d tell me if he was. I know for a _fact_ I’m not doing it with Marty. Will you please, for the love of crap, just freaking believe us?”

Mary blinked, her blue eyes wet with tears that disappeared almost immediately. While Sam looked abashed at his mother’s concern, the annoyance on Dean’s face was more than she could stand. In fact, it made her laugh. Mary laughed until tears rolled down her face.

“She’s laughing,” Sam said, looking confused. “Why is she laughing?”

Dean shook his head. “She’s laughing at me, Sammy.”

“No!” Mary wiped tears off her cheeks with her fingertips. “I’m laughing at you both.” Mary took a breath and smiled at her befuddled sons. “Of course I know you’re not having sex with them. I’ve just never seen you both so intense over a girl before. _Either_ of you.” Mary flicked her eyes in Dean’s direction.

Dean’s freckled cheeks went pink under his mother’s gaze.

Ruby picked Marty and Sam up for work in the old station wagon. Dean waved at the three of them as they drove away, Marty throwing him a kiss for good measure. Across the street, Deborah Weber stood on her front porch, arms crossed around her middle like she was hugging herself against the heat of the day. Dean hesitated when he saw her, then raised a hand in salute. Deborah started like a startled cat, recovered, and waved him over.

“Yeah?” Dean called across to her without moving off the front steps.

“Can I speak to you?” Deborah asked.

“I … guess …” Dean said haltingly. The last thing he wanted was another early morning tete-a-tete with an emotional mother.

Deborah was sitting  on the porch swing when Dean walked up. She smiled shyly at him and Dean was struck by how much she and Marty looked alike when they smiled.

“What’s up?” he asked.

“Sit down, Dean,” Deborah said.

Dean chose a chair over the coziness of the porch swing. He figured that if Marty and he ever sat on that together, the last thing he wanted on his head was the memory of rocking on it with her mother.

“Dean, I know you and Mary Martha have gotten closer,” Deborah began

( _oh, my god,_ dean thought, groaning inwardly)

“And I just wanted to say that I’ve grown fond of you,” Deborah went on, unaware of Dean’s internal reaction. “Mary Martha tells me you’re going to join us at the picnic this Saturday.”

“I am,” Dean agreed.

“I know you’ll feel welcome, Dean, and your brother too,” Deborah went on. “I just want you to understand that some people won’t be very nice to you.”

“What about Sam?” Dean asked immediately.

“I don’t know,” Deborah admitted.

“Are you trying to discourage us from coming?” Dean asked.

Deborah looked horrified. “No! I _want_ you to come. Mary Martha wants you to come. You can’t let a few bad apples ruin your enjoyment.”

“I never do,” Dean told her.

“Dean, do you care about Mary Martha?” Deborah asked.

“Yes,” Dean replied.

“Do you respect her?”

“‘course.”

“And you’re being …” Deborah paused. Dean waited, feeling a touch of panic start to kick in as Deborah very obviously groped for the right word to use. “ … _gentle_ with her?”

It took Dean a minute to realize what Deborah meant by ‘gentle.’

_Oh, fuck me,_ Dean thought, the panic settling in. _She wants to know if I’m trying to bang her daughter._

“I would never try _anything_ inappropriate with Marty,” Dean said in a rush. “Ever. I wouldn’t even think about it.”

Not totally true, of course, since since thinking about being inappropriate with Marty took over most of Dean’s private thoughts. But no need for Deborah to know that.

Deborah smiled at Dean. She knew, as a red-blooded teenage guy, that inappropriate thoughts were par for the course, but she appreciated his desire to lie for her own peace of mind. Besides, Deborah was sure that Dean was being a perfect gentleman. She could tell by the way his face softened and his eyes lit up when he said her name.

“Why do you call her ‘Marty’?” Deborah asked.

“Everyone needs a nickname,” Dean replied. “And Mary Martha is so--” Dean cut himself off when he saw Deborah’s face. “I mean, she’s so outgoing and fun that ‘Marty’ fit her better.”

“Mary Martha is named over the mother of our Lord and Lazarus’ sister.”

“I knew that,” Dean said.

“You did?” Deborah said, surprised.

Dean realized what he said and clamped his lips together. Deborah noticed the change in him instantly. She wanted to press him, but she knew that would make him shut down even more.

_There’s more to Mary Martha’s boy than meets the eye,_ Deborah decided.

Deborah reached out and patted Dean’s knee. “You’re a good boy, Dean. Mary Martha is lucky to have you in her life.”

Dean knew that was his cue to leave. He smiled at Deborah and stood up.

“You should call her ‘Marty,’ Mrs. W.,” he advised Deborah. “I bet she’d be happy about that.”

“You think so?” Deborah asked.

Dean grinned again. This time, it prompted a smile back. “Yeah, Mrs. W. You should try it tonight.”

Dean started down the porch steps. Deborah got to her feet.

“Come for dinner tonight?” she asked.

Dean almost tripped over his feet as he turned to face her. Total disbelief was all over his beautiful face.

“Are you sure?” His voice was flabbergasted.

Deborah nodded. “I’m sure. We can throw some hamburgers on the grill. Would you like cheeseburgers instead?”

Dean’s eyes were wild with worry. His cool, unruffled demeanor was gone. This was a new development. Dinner with Marty and her parents wasn’t something he had counted on happening for a really long time. Or at all.

If it was any other girl, Dean would have turned down the offer in a second. There was no way he would eat dinner with the parents of a girl he was seeing. No need to fake bonds that would never happen. Of course, he’d never actually had a girlfriend before. A real girlfriend that he went on real dates with, not just random horny make-out dates that eventually led to random horny sex dates.

“Dean?” Deborah asked kindly. “Are you all right?”

“I’ve never been asked to dinner at a girl’s house before,” Dean admitted before he could stop himself.

“Really?” A frown furrowed Deborah’s forehead. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, Mary-- _Marty_ \--has never had a boy come to dinner before.”

“Not ever?” Dean asked.

“No.” Deborah shook her head. “This is new ground for her too.”

“Mr. Weber doesn’t like me.”

“No, he doesn’t,” Deborah agreed. “But he needs to learn that you aren’t what he thinks you are.”

“A blasphemous sinner with a soul as black as night?” Dean cracked before he could stop himself.

Deborah’s face blanched in horror at Dean’s joke, something he quickly regretted making.

“Dinner is at 6 o’clock,” Deborah said, her voice soft. “I’m sure we’ll have a lovely evening.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, feeling 3 inches tall.

“See you then, Dean.” Deborah headed into the house.

Dean kicked his own ass all the way back to his house, feeling like a complete douche. What an awesome way to alienate the one parent he had on his side.

“Lovely evening, my left nut,” Dean muttered darkly as he let himself back into his house.


	17. Chapter 17

Marty came into the house, slamming the door behind her. Work had been a nightmare. Her boss had been especially jerky, insisting on the cooler being emptied and scrubbed from top to bottom. Not only was it time-consuming, the cooler froze the cleaning fluids she was using, meaning that scrubbing was even more exhausting.

“Hello, Marty,” Deborah greeted her.

“Hey, Mama,” Marty replied, feeling 100 years old.

“Work hard today?”

“Yeah. I--” Marty stopped short. “What did you call me?”

Deborah smiled, almost shyly. “Marty.”

“Why?”

“Dean suggested you might like it, so I thought I’d give it a try.”

Marty didn’t know how to respond. Deborah’s shy smile faltered.

“Are you all right with the idea?” she asked.

“I don’t know, Mama,” Marty answered honestly. “It’s not your thing. Nicknames, I mean.”

Deborah looked crestfallen, then shook it off immediately. “Well, I see.”

“No! Wait!” Marty rushed over to Deborah. “I’m sorry! I like it. You just surprised me.”

Deborah smiled, looking relieved. “Oh. I’m glad.”

Marty giggled. “This is so weird.” Marty paused, thinking. “When did you talk to Dean?”

“Today,” Deborah said in a tone that made it sound like she talked to Dean Winchester on a daily basis. “I invited him to dinner.”

Deborah left Marty standing in the front hallway. Panic had frozen Marty to the floor. The realization that Dean was going to be eating dinner at the same table as her father sent her running into the kitchen, where Deborah was calmly folding hard boiled eggs and mayo into the potato salad.

“Whoa! _What_?” Marty cried out. “What are you saying, Mama?”

“You heard me quite clearly.” Deborah stowed the potato salad in the fridge, then turned to the counter again to start a tossed salad.

“Mama! You can’t!” Marty couldn’t keep the terror from her voice. “Daddy and Dean can’t eat together! Daddy hates Dean!”

“And how does Dean feel about your father?” Deborah asked.

Marty paused. “I have no idea,” she admitted. “I don’t think he feels anything about Daddy.”

“You can’t date a boy that has no feelings about your father,” Deborah told Marty.

Marty cringed at her mother’s poor grammar, but instead said, “Mama, I’d rather Dean be opinionless about Daddy than hate him.”

Deborah sighed. “You can’t have it both ways, Marty.”

Marty snatched a carrot away from her mother’s knife and crunched it as she went upstairs to shower. Dean. Coming to dinner. _Dean. To dinner._ This was not good. Not good at all.

“No, Deborah! No! He’s not welcome here!”

Those were the first words Marty heard when she came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, her hair dripping down her back. Her father sounded furious. Deborah’s voice answered him, low, so low Marty couldn’t hear what she was saying.

“I don’t care, Deborah,” James Weber announced. “ _Un_ -invite him then.”

James’ feet on the steps prompted Marty’s quick retreat into her bedroom. Behind her closed door, Marty heard James stomp by her room and into her parents’. Throwing on clothes, Marty kept one eye on her reflection and one eye watching for Dean to cross the street. When she finally saw the Winchesters’ front door open, she headed to the front porch to meet him.

“Hey, Ginger,” Dean called out. He was carrying a store-bought cake.

Marty smiled. “Whatcha got?”

Dean came up the front walk and met Marty on the steps. With her on the top step and him on the bottom, they were finally the same height. Dean gave her a quick kiss on the corner of her lips.

“Pound cake,” he replied, holding it out to her slightly. “Mom told me to bring something and … well … yeah. Here, cake.”

Marty took the cake. Dean was obviously nervous which, in turn, was making Marty even more nervous. The two of them paused. They knew the next step was into the house, but the house meant parents and parents meant … _parents_.

“C’mon, pretty eyes.” Marty took Dean’s elbow. “We have to go in.”

“You sure?” Dean asked, wrinkling his nose.

Marty giggled. “Don’t be a wuss.”

Dean gritted his teeth at the word. Marty turned and headed into the house. Dean considered bolting, but followed her instead. Deborah was gathering up plastic plates and cups and laying them on a tray to bring into the backyard. She saw Dean enter the kitchen and she smiled at him happily.

“Hello, Dean,” she said. “What do you have there?”

“Pound cake.” Dean’s voice sounded odd to his ears.

“How nice!” Deborah turned to the fridge. “I think we have some strawberries to slice on top.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Marty asked.

“Outside. Doing something with the grill.” Deborah rolled her eyes.

“Why don’t you go outside with Daddy?” Marty nudged Dean toward the back door.

Dean glared at Marty with widened green eyes and a clenched jaw. “Yeah. Why don’t I?” he growled at her.

Dean moved toward the door like he was heading to his execution.

_I’m gonna kill you,_ his look told Marty.

_Shut up. Get out there,_ her’s replied scathingly.

Dean let his displeasure be known by slamming the screen door, making Marty and Deborah jump.

“That didn’t seem to be what he wanted to do,” Deborah commented mildly as she handed Marty the strawberries to wash.

“Mama, please,” Marty said, looking out the window over the sink as her boyfriend approached her father hesitantly.

“Hey, Mr. Weber,” Dean’s voice floated across the back deck and into the kitchen.

James looked up from the grill and scowled briefly at Dean. “Hello.”

Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans, not sure what to say next. Marty watched as Dean glanced around the backyard. He seemed lost and ill at ease, something Marty was sure wasn’t used to being at all.

“Hot out, huh?” Dean tried next.

James barely nodded. “Hotter if you keep on wearing jeans.”

“Well, I don’t do shorts,” Dean replied.

“Then it’s going to be a long and miserable summer for you until the weather cools off.”

Dean shook his head in disbelief, then saw Marty in the kitchen window. He raised his hands up in a “What the fuck now?” gesture and Marty waved the paring knife at him.

“Keep talking,” she said.

“What?” Deborah asked.

“I’m helping Dean,” Marty told her mother.

Deborah picked up the tray to bring outside. “And how’s that going?”

“Real bad, it looks like,” Marty said honestly.

“Well, only they can work it out.” Deborah opened the screen door with her elbow.

“Lemme get that for you, Mrs. W.,” Dean offered immediately, rushing to help Deborah with the door.

“Thank you, Dean,” Deborah said. “Would you mind?”

Dean took the tray from her and set it on the picnic table. Deborah went back inside without another word. Dean looked at the tray. At least setting the table would give him something to do with his hands while he was being ignored.

Marty finished slicing the strawberries and stowed them back into the fridge. Then she rushed outside to Dean’s aid.

“What are you doing?” James was asking Dean when she reached the back deck.

“I’m setting the table.” Dean’s voice betrayed every bit of loathing he was feeling.

“Mary Martha’s here now. She can do it.” James used his spatula to point from Marty to the half-set table.

Marty went to pick up a plate, but Dean stilled her with a hand on her arm. “No. I got this, Mr. Weber.”

James turned away from the hamburgers on the grill to peer at Dean and Marty. “I said Mary Martha will finish that. Mary Martha.”

Marty froze. She knew this was a power-play between her boyfriend and her father and, unsure of how to react. With Dean and James staring each other down and neither of them looking at her, Marty considered making a break for it, but James suddenly jerked his head in her direction.

“Mary Martha. _Set the table_.”

Dean didn’t take his eyes off James, continuing to set the table. Marty couldn’t help but be impressed at his innate ability to lay out forks and knives without looking.

“There’s no reason Marty has to do it at all, _sir_ ,” Dean was saying. His sneering of the word ‘sir’ made James tighten his shoulders.

“Fine.” James turned back to his burgers. “As long as you don’t mind doing a woman’s job.”

“Some would say cooking was a woman’s job too,” Dean replied, his careless tone sarcastic.

Marty’s hazel eyes flicked back and forth between Dean and her father. This was not going well at all.

Deborah joined the strained trio, carrying food and condiments from inside. She smiled artlessly at them, knowing full well what had just happened.

“How are those hamburgers, James?” she asked. “Do you need any cheese?”

James harumph’ed in her general direction, holding out his hand for the cheese without looking at her. Marty laid out bowls of potato and green salad while Dean stood off to the side, his hands back in his jeans pockets.

“Dean? Would you like some tea?” Deborah asked him.

It took Dean a minute to respond, to downshift into a more civil attitude now that his ally was talking to him. He smiled at Deborah, who was struck by how truly handsome he was.

“No, thanks, Mrs. W.,” he said. “I’m still getting used to sweet tea. Do you have any ice water?”

“I can get you some,” Marty offered and fled the scene to the quiet, less stressful sanctity of the empty kitchen.

Hiding in the kitchen, Marty’s stomach turned uneasily. There was no way that this night was going to go anywhere but downhill.

_Please, Jesus,_ Marty prayed hastily. _Please make Daddy and Dean be nice to each other. I love them both so much._

Armed with a large glass of ice water, Marty joined the uncomfortable party outside again. James had placed the platter of cheeseburgers in the middle of the picnic table and the three of them were sitting there, not speaking, waiting for her return. In fact, her presence back in their midst prompted three heads to swivel in her direction. Coming up short, Marty clutched Dean’s glass of water.

“What?” she asked timidly.

“Nothing, Ginger,” Dean answered. “Just waiting on you.”

James glared at Dean. “Just how many nicknames do you have for my daughter?”

“Two,” Dean said. “In my family, nicknames are signs of affection.”

“What does your father call you then?” James asked.

Dean froze momentarily. Marty saw it. A look of terror flitted across his eyes, but was gone in an instant.

“My father called me by my name.” Dean’s voice was tight with emotion.

“Well, if your father can call you by your Christian name, you can call Mary Martha by hers.”

Marty watched as Dean’s jaw tightened as he served himself dinner. James looked smugly down the table at him. Dean took Marty’s plate wordlessly and piled it with food. Marty took it back from him before he could give her 5 heaping spoonfuls of potato salad.

“Dean, are you looking forward to the picnic this Saturday?” Deborah asked, trying to lighten the tension around the table.

Dean gave Deborah a tight smile. “Oh, yeah. I can’t wait to be judged by a church full of strangers.”

“It won’t be like that, Dean.” Even Marty didn’t believe her own words.

“Oh, no. It won’t be like that at all, Dean,” James agreed, grinning cruelly. “I’m sure everyone will just be delighted to meet you. And your brother.”

“Don’t bring Sam into this,” Dean warned.

“And what’s _his_ nickname?” James asked.

“James!” Deborah gasped at the same time Marty cried out, “Daddy!”

Dean slammed down his fork. “That’s it. I’m outta here.”

“Dean, wait!” Marty clambered to her feet as Dean stood up and began to stalk away.

“Sorry, Ging,” Dean turned around to face her. Marty stopped in her tracks. “But I can’t sit here and have him crap all over me.”

“He didn’t mean it!” Marty cried helplessly.

“Oh, he did.” Dean glanced over Marty’s shoulder at James, who hadn’t gotten up, then at Deborah, who had and looked distressed. “I’ll see you later, Marty.”

“Dean?” Marty started after him.

“Nah. Nah, Ginger.” Dean held up both of his hands. “I need a minute.”

And, with that, Dean walked out of the backyard. Marty stood staring after him, both of her hands over her mouth as her eyes welled up. Movement behind her at the table made her swing around. James was starting to stand up, but he froze when he saw the look on his daughter’s face.

“What did you do, Daddy?” Marty demanded as tears of fury spilled over her lower lashes. _“What did you do?”_


	18. Chapter 18

Saturday dawned bright and sunny. The heat was going to top off at a rather sweaty 85*. Marty rolled over in bed, listening to Deborah clatter around downstairs, getting the 90 pound vat of potato salad ready to be forklifted into the car for the picnic.

Marty covered her eyes with her arm. The picnic. There was no way she was going to the picnic. Not after that disastrous dinner. Not after the fight with her father. Not after the night before.

It was 9 o’clock. Marty was sulking in her room, painting her toenails and listening to Barlow Girl, wishing that her mother had never invited Dean to dinner and wishing that her father had never been so judgmental, when her phone chirped.

_hey, ginger._ It was Dean! Finally!

Marty took a minute to steady her suddenly-thrumping heart before she answered.

_hey, pretty eyes._

_how’s it goin?_

_ok. are you ok?_

_yeah, great._

_ok. good._

_i can’t go to the thing tomorrow. i have to work._

The thing. The church picnic. Dean was bailing on her. Marty blinked back a rush of unexpected tears. Pressing her lips together, she exhaled a long shaky breath through her nose. She knew it. She just knew it. Daddy had driven Dean away and now it was over, all over.

_Oh, God. Oh, no,_ Marty panicked. _This **so** isn’t happening._

_ging?_

_yeah, sorry. so, work?_

_yeah. my boss called and i need the money. sorry._

_it’s cool._

_really?_

_yeah, sure. is sam still going?_

_dunno. i guess._

_wow. great for ruby._

_cmon. that’s not fair. i have to work._

_whatever. i gotta go._

Marty slammed her phone down and proceeded to ignore every text and call from Dean for the next half hour. After that, he gave up and her phone went silent. Sniffling, Marty turned up her music and cried until her eyes ached.

“Mary Martha!” James rapped sharply on her door. “Are you awake?”

_Go away. **A-hole** ,_ Marty thought angrily, glaring at her closed door.

“Mary--”

“I’m awake!” Marty yelled, not caring how it sounded.

“We’re leaving in an hour and a half.”

“Awesome. I’m leaping out of bed as we speak.”

James jiggled the door knob and found it locked. Marty could feel his anger through the wood. “You will not speak to me like that,” he told her.

“I’ll speak any way I want,” Marty snapped.

James’ silence spoke volumes. His retreating footsteps prompted Marty out of bed. There was no way she was going anywhere single now that she had a boy--Did she even still _have_ a boyfriend? Oh, this was an absolute nightmare.

As much as her inner rebel wanted her to get back into bed, Marty knew that couldn’t happen. She knew she had to get ready and go to the picnic. There was no getting out of it.

An hour later, Marty found herself helping load the car with chairs and enough potato salad to feed the entire UK football team. Deborah watched her daughter worriedly. Marty hadn’t said much to either of them since Dean had stalked out of the backyard. Deborah knew that the first fight is always the end of the world for young boyfriends and girlfriends but this was different. It was like Marty couldn’t pull herself out of the funk.

“Is Dean meeting us there?” Deborah asked gently.

“He’s not coming,” Marty said shortly.

“He’s not?” Deborah was surprised.

“Yeah, he’s not. He’s gotta work,” Marty muttered.

“When did he tell--”

“Last night.”

Deborah paused, glancing across the street. Dean’s black car still hulked in the driveway. In fact, the entire Winchester house was still. Deborah sighed, but turned a smile to Marty.

“I’m sure he feels terrible about it,” she said.

Marty snorted. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

James joined his women, lugging a cooler of lemonade and soda. There was no alcohol at the picnic, of course, but drinks always ran low, especially when it was this hot. He looked back and forth between his wife and his daughter. They weren’t speaking; Deborah’s forehead was furrowed and Marty looked like she was on the verge of either anger or tears. It was the same face she’d been making for four days. Ever since that Winchester boy left her crying on the back deck.

“Are we ready to leave?” he asked.

Neither of Deborah or Marty answered, but just climbed into the car and looked out their respective windows. James sighed. Thank goodness he didn’t have to deal with them today but instead sit with his male friends and talk college sports.

The picnic had taken over the empty lot next door to the church. Countless tables and chairs were already set up, along with grills and a tent over tables that church ladies were already lining with their best dishes. Deborah and Marty carried their offering over, not speaking to each other, but smiling politely at greetings called their way.

“Hello, Deborah. Hello, Mary Martha.” Linny Schneider, Ruby’s mother, waved cheerfully. “Here, I saved your salad a place right here, Deb.”

“Thank you, Linny,” Deborah said as Marty looked around for Ruby.

“Ruby and Sam are right over there, Mary Martha.” Linny pointed to a shady spot under the eaves of the church building.

Marty smiled quietly and headed over to her best friend. Ruby and Sam’s head were close together, chatting but not kissing, not in front of the congregation. When they saw Marty coming, they exchanged an obvious look that Marty knew they didn’t want her to see (but she did) and then they both smiled at the same time.

“Hey, baby.” Ruby kissed Marty hello before she was enveloped in an exuberant hug from Sam.

“Hey.” Marty smiled sadly. “What’s going on?”

“Just gossiping about the congregation,” Ruby replied. “Warning Sam away from the sucky ones.”

“Barbara Tillinger?” Marty asked, making Sam laugh.

“That was the first one she mentioned,” he said.

“How’s Dean?” Marty asked suddenly.

Sam’s smile faltered. “Uh … he’s okay.”

“Yeah? Really?”

“Yeah. He has to--um--work today,” Sam cleared his throat.

“He said.” Marty turned away from Sam’s red ears. There was no way Dean had to work. It was all a lie. A lie so he wouldn’t have to see her.

The picnic swelled to enormous proportions pretty quickly. Church members brought family and friends that didn’t attend their church. Kids ran and played, fell down, got filthy, and then got yelled at. Teenage girls gathered in little groups, passing phones back and forth and giggling over Tumblr posts while they Tweeted about being stuck with their families all day long, all the while checking out Ruby Schneider’s new boyfriend. Teenage boys started up a baseball game complete with serious shit-talking, all the while checking out Ruby Schneider’s new boyfriend. Women fussed over the sides while gossiping about each other, all the while checking out Ruby Schneider’s new boyfriend, exchanging meaningful looks they thought Linny Schneider didn’t notice. Men gathered around the few grills set up, lecturing each other over proper grilling techniques and the prospects of UK’s basketball season. If Ruby Schneider had a new boyfriend, they didn’t notice.

Marty stuck close to Ruby and Sam, trying to appear invisible to the Picnic Planning Committee (Junior _and_ Senior division), positive they were all talking about how the Handsome Guy Who Stole Her Away During That One Meeting wasn’t there with her. As much as Ruby and Sam reassured her that that wasn’t what anyone was thinking, Marty cringed when eyes turned their way, sure that she and her missing boyfriend were the only topics of conversation.

“Hey, new guy,” Brad Kellerman, a beefy guy Ruby and Marty had known since kindergarten, called over to Sam. “You want in?”

Sam hesitated. He wanted to join the makeshift baseball game, but a certain amount of shyness gave him pause.

“Go on, babe.” Ruby nudged him with her elbow. “I’ll sit here and cheer you on.”

Sam smiled at the girls and loped over to the two teams of boys, evening out their numbers. The guys greeted him cheerfully, shaking his hand and pulling him in for a dude hug or two. Ruby grinned broadly.

“Look at my man,” she said to Marty, oblivious to the burn her simple statement caused her best friend. “Look at him, getting all involved.”

“Cute,” Marty replied in a strangled voice.

“Oh, Marty, I’m sorry,” Ruby said immediately, putting her arm around Marty’s shoulders. “I forgot. I didn’t mean--”

“It’s okay,” Marty lied.

“Hey, Ruby. Hey, Mary Martha.”

A cluster of girls had finally made their way over to the friends. Marty cringed. The last thing she wanted was to talk to anyone.

“Hey, chickas,” Ruby replied, blithely pretending nothing was amiss with Marty. “How’s things?”

“Mary Martha, where’s your boyfriend?” one girl, Jennifer Tillinger (spawn of the infamously mean Barbara Tillinger), asked.

“He had to work,” Marty answered quietly.

Jennifer Tillinger exchanged a not so subtle smirk with her girlfriends. “I bet.”

“Well, he did.” Marty shrugged in what she prayed was a casual way and turned her attention to the baseball game. Sam was playing first base, probably because of his massive height.

“You sure he didn’t dump you?” Jennifer Tillinger asked next.

“What the hell, Jenn?” Ruby demanded.

Jennifer Tillinger threw her hands up, airly waving off Ruby’s venom. “I was just asking. I mean, we never see them together except that one time and now he’s not here? Weird.”

“Not weird,” Ruby snapped. “We just don’t hang around here all the time so everyone can see us.”

“Oh, I can imagine what you do when no one can see you,” Jennifer Tillinger said, making her friends laugh.

“You best back the fu--” Ruby began, getting to her feet.

“Ruby,” Marty whispered, stilling her angry friend with a hand on the wrist.

Jennifer Tillinger looked down at Marty. “Poor Mary Martha. You were almost cool because of him.”

Marty didn’t reply, but watched Sam’s team desperately field a double play. Sam got the batter out at first and whooped with joy, immediately looking over to see if his girlfriend saw. Marty watched his exuberant face go serious when he saw Ruby and Jennifer Tillinger in the middle of their confrontation. He flicked his eyes to Marty, who shrugged. Sam shook his head and went back to the game.

Ruby and Jennifer Tillinger’s posturing only lasted another minute before Ruby grew bored and rolled her eyes.

“See ya bye,” she said and joined Marty again.

Jennifer Tillinger snorted and lead her friends off to gossip and throw dirty looks at Ruby’s and Marty’s backs.

“Forget that bitch,” Ruby told Marty. “She’s just jealous.”

“Jealous of my imaginary boyfriend?” Marty asked.

“Dean is _not_ imaginary,” Ruby assured Marty. “Anyone with eyes can see that.”

Marty smiled a little. Ruby wiggled her eyebrows sassily at Marty before winking, sending Marty into a real laugh. Her first one in days.

Dean’s car wasn’t in the driveway when Marty and her parents arrived home hours later. Night had fallen and all the porch lights on the street were on for hours before Marty, who had been laying miserably in bed, finally heard Dean’s car roar up the road, pull into the drive, and park. Peeking out her bedroom window, Marty watched Dean’s long form make its way up the driveway. He let himself into his house without looking back at hers, his red Advance Auto Parts polo glowing in the yellow halo of the front light.

Marty was relieved Dean really had to work--he hadn’t lied after all--but there was still nothing really reassuring about it at all.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember making out with your first boyfriend/girlfriend and things get all sweaty and sticky and you only take your shirt off? Yeah, that happens.

Dean was pouring himself a cup of coffee when Sam trotted into the kitchen, decked out in basketball shorts and a sleeveless shirt. He’d pushed a pair of sunglasses into his hair and was grinning idiotically at his phone. Dean rolled his eyes. Ruby, probably, texting Sam a picture of her laying in bed in a skimpy tank top. Dean had snooped on Sam’s phone once or twice and was bemused by the amount of sexting the two of them had been doing.

“What’s going on, loser?” Dean asked.

Sam looked up. “Nothin’. Just gettin’ together with some guys to play baseball.”

“What?” Dean asked, surprised.

Sam didn’t reply, but answered his phone when it began to ring, turning away from Dean as he did. “Hey, Brad.”

“Brad?” Dean asked, putting his mug down.

Sam ignored his older brother. “Yeah, yeah. Fifteen minutes works for me. Later.”

“ _Brad_?” Dean repeated in a lilting, lisping voice. “Who’s _Brad_?”

“Just a guy I met at the picnic,” Sam replied. “He’s pretty cool. So’re his friends.”

“Wait.” Dean held up a hand. “You made friends with people in Ruby’s church?”

“Well, yeah,” Sam said. “They asked me to play baseball and they were nice enough. We’re playing again today.”

“Well, isn’t that just sweet?” Dean said sarcastically.

“Look, if you’d gone--”

“I had to _work_.”

Sam scoffed. “Bullshit. You bailed because of Marty’s dad. I heard you call your boss and ask if you could work.”

Dean opened his mouth to protest, but closed it when he saw the look of disdain on Sam’s face.

“Man, I thought you’d changed,” Sam said. A car honked outside the house. Sam grabbed a water bottle from the fridge. “But you’re just the same. Always bailing.”

“I don’t bail!” Dean exclaimed.

“Tell that to Marty,” Sam told him. “You didn’t see her face yesterday.” Dean watched Sam walk down the front hall to the door. Right before he left, Sam glanced back at his brother. “You’re a douche sometimes, you know that, right, Dean?”

Left alone, Dean finished his coffee with shaking hands. He and Sam had thrown down more than a few times over the years, but Dean would’ve rather a real fight than the quiet and controlled way Sam had annihilated him.

Dean knew he’d bailed. And he knew he’d bailed because of Marty’s dad. He just didn’t need his little brother to call him on it. But, knowing Sam, Dean knew that Sam couldn’t keep quiet on Dean being a douche.

Dean sighed, rinsed out his mug and tucked it next to the coffee maker. Time to go apologize to Marty. There was no way he was going to let that girl think his behavior was all her fault. But first? First he was going to clean the entire house, shower, rearrange his mother’s books, CDs, and movies into alphabetical order, and start marinating the chicken for dinner.

 _Dean, you fucking wimp,_ he thought bitterly, but went to fetch the vacuum cleaner anyway.

The Winchester house was spic and span from top to bottom before Dean stopped to breathe again. There was no more stalling he could do. Time to face Marty. Time to face his girlfriend.

 _Girlfriend_. The word made Dean wince a little. Six years of serial dating and completely avoiding using that word and now it gets bandied about like it’s nothing.

Crossing the street, Dean forced himself to put on his best, easy-going smile and casual gait. No need to let Marty know how ill at ease he really felt. Ringing the bell, Dean swiped his forearm over his sweaty forehead before shoving his hands in the front pockets of his jeans. Jesus, it was hot. Did it ever freaking cool off in this shitty town? The door started to open and Dean immediately put on his most appealing half-smile. No matter what female was on the other side, it would work.

“Dean.”

Ruby. Damn. The only one his grin won’t work on.

“Hey, Ruby. Is, uh, Marty around?”

“I would hope so. Since this is her house.” Ruby wasn’t giving him an inch.

“I need to talk to her.”

Ruby nodded in agreement. “You do.”

“Ruby, c’mon,” Dean snapped.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Ruby placed her hand over her chest. “Did you want to talk to her _now_ ? You don’t have to run off to work, do ya?”

“Jesus Christ, Ruby,” Dean grumbled. “Just let me in.”

Ruby opened her mouth for a sassy retort, but Dean heard Marty’s voice from behind her. “Oh, let him in, Ruby.”

“And here I was having so much fun.” Ruby opened the screen door and Dean pushed past her into the air conditioned living room.

Marty was sitting on the couch, obviously posing to seem more comfortable, but Dean could see how uncomfortable she felt. Coming across the room, Dean felt his bravado falter. This girl--his girlfriend--deserved so much better than the shit move he’d pulled with her.

Dean sat down next to her and took her hand. “I’m an asshole.”

Marty looked surprised. “What?”

“You heard me,” Dean told her. “I’m an asshole and I did an asshole thing.”

“You did,” Marty agreed, smiling a little.

Dean glanced over at Ruby, who was leaning against the wall with her arms crossed. She arched an eyebrow at him and waved her hand at him.

“Come on. Keep going,” the gesture said.

Dean pursed his lips and looked back at Marty, who was waiting expectantly for more with a little grin on her face.

“And I’m sorry.”

Marty’s little grin grew a little wider. “You should be. You’re a terrible and awful person and I’ll hate you forever.” She stuck her nose up in the air.

Dean smiled, feeling relieved at her joke. “Will you now?”

“I most certainly will. Evil man,” Marty replied.

Dean inched closer to her on the couch. He slipped an arm around her waist, pulling her to him. Both of Marty’s arms went around him without hesitation. Dean smiled when he felt Marty melt against him.

“Ruby?” Marty asked, without taking her eyes off his.

“Yeah?” Ruby said.

“Time for you to go.” Marty’s lips brushed Dean’s as she spoke.

Ruby chuckled. “Ta-ta, kids.”

Dean didn’t wait to hear the door close before he held Marty by the back of her head and kissed her hard. Marty pulled her mouth free, wrapped the fabric of Dean’s t-shirt in her fists, and yanked it up over his head. She dropped his shirt on the floor, leaving Dean bare chested.

“Marty--” Dean began.

“Oh, shut up,” Marty ordered. “Now kiss me, damn it.”

Dean pulled Marty onto his lap. As she straddled his thighs, Marty grabbed Dean’s hands and used them to pull her tank top off, leaving her in a bra. Dean paused for half a second before pulling her to her knees and burying his face in her cleavage. Marty scrabbled her hands over his short hair, scraping her nails over his scalp. Dean’s mouth moved against her skin, his tongue laving the deep crevice between her breasts. His hands ran across her belly and up her back, deftly unhooking her bra with an easy pinch of the hooks. Marty let the bra fall forward, off her shoulders to stop in the crooks of her elbows. Leaning back from Dean’s kissing only long enough to pull her bra off and let it drop on the couch next to them.

“Damn …” Dean breathed, taking in the sight of Marty topless.

“Stop it,” Marty whispered, blushing.

“Nope.” Dean held her breasts in both hands and rolled his tongue over her nipples.

Marty gasped at the feeling, arching her back. Dean pressed her breasts together, working both nipples at the same time, enjoying the taste of them and the way Marty’s hips rolled against his. The heat radiating from her core was about to drive him mad when he felt Marty’s hands slip between them to cup the hard bulge of his throbbing dick.

“Jesus,” Dean groaned as his hips thrust forward inadvertently at her touch.

Marty, unsure of her sudden power, paused. Dean let go of her and guided her hands gently to the button on his jeans. Dean met Marty’s eyes. Her pupils were blown-out. Her breath was ragged. Her skin was flushed. Dean ran his hands up her thighs.

“Dean,” Marty breathed.

“C’mon, Ginger,” Dean murmured. “Take a chance.”

Marty looked up from where her hands were frozen on his jeans’ waistband. Biting her bottom lip, Marty’s fingers moved and Dean felt his jeans come undone so agonizingly slow, he was sure he was going to die.

“Now what?” Marty seemed to be asking herself more than him, so Dean kept quiet and let his head loll back onto the couch.

Dean felt Marty shift closer on his lap. One hand tucked itself in between his legs while the other depressed the pillow behind his back. Suddenly, Marty’s mouth was tracing the fine line of his neck to his collar bone. Dean shivered involuntarily at the smooth feeling of her lips as they moved their way down his chest. The tip of her wet tongue touched his nipple tentatively, as if unsure of what to do. Dean moaned lightly, squeezing his eyes closed.

Marty made a pleased little noise in the back of her throat. Her hand moved against the aching curve of his cock. The friction of her hand made Dean’s hips thrust forward again. With her mouth on his nipple, nibbling and licking, and her soft hand rubbing him through his boxer briefs, Dean let his imagination run wild.

Marty, naked, her skin tanned in some places and white in the spots usually covered by her bathing suit,  laying invitingly on his bed, her arms flung above her head. Her round breasts and belly taut as she arched her back, moaning in anticipation. Her hips raised off the mattress, giving him a glimpse of the soft, wet folds of her pussy.

“Dean,” Dream Marty moaned, “touch me. Dean, please.”

“Fuck!” Dean cursed as he came in his boxers like a 13 year old boy being jacked off for the first time.

“Oh, my God!” Marty gasped as Dean’s body jerked against hers.

Dean looked up at her immediately. Marty’s face was bright red and she was trembling. Dean put his arms around her and drew her close.

“You okay, Ging?” he asked, his mouth buried in her hair.

“Are you?” Marty replied.

“I’m awesome.”

“I’m sorry--if it was--”

“Ging, it’s okay,” Dean reassured Marty, kissing the side of her neck through the red curtain of her hair.

“I was awful.” And with that, Marty started to laugh.

Ignoring the uncomfortable feeling of his boxer briefs drying against him, Dean held his innocent, giggling girlfriend close.

“You better stop laughing,” he warned her.

This just made Marty laugh even harder.

“I swear, Marty, if you know what’s good for you …” Dean’s green eyes flashed.

“What are you going to do?” Marty snickered.

Dean jammed a hand between them, found the hot mound between her legs, and began to rub. Marty tried to pull back, but Dean’s strong arm around her waist stopped her escape. Marty’s eyes closed as she moaned. Dean’s fingers rolled the seam of her cut off khakis against her clit until Marty let out a cry.

“Dean! Oh, my--!” She strangled her words to stop herself from crying out something untoward.

Dean removed his fingers slowly, letting Marty relax against him, her breathing go back to normal.

“Feel better?” he whispered in her ear.

Marty opened her hazel eyes and met his gaze.

“Maybe I won’t hate you forever after all,” she whispered back.

Dean kissed her slowly, loving the way her body moved closer to his as their lips met, the way her soft skin caressed his chest.

“I hope not,” he teased. “Because next time …”

“Next time?” Marty asked eagerly, then blushed at her eagerness.

“Next time, I get more creative.” Dean licked Marty’s top lip lingeringly.

Marty caught Dean’s tongue between her teeth briefly, then released it.

“Next time?” she asked again, softer this time. “Now I can’t wait for next time.”


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Dean ... you wicked, naughty boy ...

Dean rolled over and blinked blearily at his alarm clock. 2.18am. What the hell? Why was he even awake? Scrubbing a hand over his eyes, Dean propped himself up on his elbow, trying to figure out why he woke up.

_Oh, Dean_ , a girl’s voice breathed.

That was it. A text.

_Oh, Dean._

“Jesus,” Dean grumbled, grabbing for his phone.

Three missed texts from Marty. Dean furrowed his brow. Why was she texting him so late? Dean opened the first text and promptly dropped his phone. Marty stared at him with sultry, heavy-lidded eyes, completely nude with one hand curved over her mound.

_you like?_

_i know you’re awake, pretty eyes._

Dean’s mouth felt dry as he admired the snap. Ever since that make-out on her parents’ couch, Marty was much more adventurous, to say the very least. Chaste kissing was exchanged for deep, long, wet kissing that lasted for 20 minutes. Hands found themselves in and under articles of clothing. Biting, licking, kissing, touching, pinching. Marty had even changed the text alert he used for her from the opening chords of _Highway to Hell_ to her sighing his name. Everything was on the table. Almost everything. Marty drew the line at any kind of adventuring into her panties.

_yeah, ginger. damn. definitely awake now._

_what parts of you?_

Dean chuckled. That was his girl.

_all the parts of me_

_i like the parts_

_prove it_

_dean …_

_dude, ging. you can’t send me a naked selfie and then act like i’m the perv_

Dean waited for her response. Sometimes, Marty’s new audacity worried her and she cut off sexting in mid-conversation. Not tonight. The next picture that came across was one of Marty sprawled across her bed. This time, no hand covered anything.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean choked on his words as all the blood in his body coursed to his junk.

_you’re killing me, girl_

_who’s the perv now?_

_you are. minx. all naked and shit_

_night, pretty eyes_

_WTF?!?!_

Dean waited for a couple minutes but Marty was gone. Groaning, Dean gripped his cock, opened the texts, and took on his hard-on. Laying there after cleaning up, Dean covered his eyes with his arm. How much longer was Marty going to make him freaking wait before the panties hit the floor and he could dive into her sweet little muff? He was freaking dying from lust. Just thinking about Marty naked and panting and willing was enough to make his cock stir sleepily.

“Forget it, bud,” Dean muttered. “We got work in the morning.”

Opening the store at 7.30am meant Dean had to be there at 6.45am to get everything ready. Really, he didn’t have to be there until 7 or 7.15, but his perfectionist attitude wouldn’t let him rush anything to be half-assed. Up at 6am, showered, dressed and out the door at 6.30am was Dean’s usual MO.

Closing the front door behind him, Dean turned around and saw Marty. She was standing on the porch. She saw him, her face lit up and she waved happily.

“Hey, baby,” Dean called softly.

Marty trotted across the street. She was still in her pjs, which Dean found simultaneously adorable and sexy, and she was smiling cheerfully.

“Hey, Pretty Eyes,” Marty said. She held out a travel mug of coffee. “I made this for you.”

Dean took the mug from her with one hand and cupped the side of her face with the other. Her mouth tasted super minty, like she’d just brushed her teeth before running out the door to meet him.

“Thanks, Ginger,” Dean murmured against her lips when the kiss broke.

Marty slid closer to him. Dean could feel her body through her thin t-shirt and boxers. Marty squeezed him, holding one ass cheek tight.

“You sure you have to go?” she whispered.

“Oh, no, Marts,” Dean said, pulling away (albeit reluctantly). “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”

“Who says I can’t?”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “I say. Unless you plan on letting me get those panties off you, I gotta go.”

Marty let Dean take a few steps away. Dean was opening the car door when Marty’s voice reached him as she walked back across the street:

“Who says I’m wearing panties anyway?”

Clutching the door handle, Dean jerked his head towards Marty, who was closing her front gate after her. She flashed a bare ass cheek at him. Dean could hear her giggle from there. A sweet wave and blown kiss and she was back in her house. Dean laid his forehead on the roof of the car.

“I’m gonna kill that girl,” Dean muttered.

The next few days passed without any kind of murder. The naughty texts from Marty only came in the middle of the night, sending Dean spinning into a vortex of ridiculous horniness. Jerking off was getting old, but Marty wasn’t volunteering to do the job for him when they were together.

It was the day before school started again when Dean decided to push his advantage. Mary and Sam were both at work and such privacy needed to be taken seriously. Dean had Marty on his bed, door closed, music playing quietly. Clothes had been piled on the floor, but Marty refused to relinquish her panties, despite Dean’s sweet talking and caresses.

Leaning over her, Dean kissed Marty’s chest while running his calloused hand over her breasts, teasing her sensitive nipples. Marty’s fingers teased their way over Dean’s muscled arms and chests, pausing to walk them over his freckles.

“I love your freckles,” Marty whispered, watching the path her fingers were taking over his bicep. “They’re so … I just want to …” Marty’s voice trailed off as she kissed the bend of Dean’s arm in the crook of his elbow.

Dean tapped his fingers over her belly to the waistband of her panties. Marty looked into his green eyes. She looked worried.

“Dean, I don’t--” she began.

“Shhhh … Marty, just …” Dean cut her off with a long, deep kiss. He felt her relax into his mattress and then he made his move. Slipping his fingers under the elastic of her panties, Dean slid his fingers over the tangle of hair and in between her lips.

“Dean! Wait!” Marty gasped, grabbing his wrist.

“Marty, let me …” Dean whispered in her ear, removing her hand from his arm. Dean moved his fingers against the little button of her clit. Dean felt Marty’s legs tighten, then relax. Her thighs parted, giving Dean’s even more room to play.

“Oh, Dean,” Marty moaned loudly, shattering the intimacy of the moment, but Dean didn’t care. He moved his fingers faster and faster. His dick throbbed as his finger slipped and slid all over the wetness of Marty’s slit. “Oh, god! Oh, god! Don’t stop!”

Knowing that Marty was close, Dean pulled his hand out of her panties. Marty jerked her head up off the pillow to meet his eyes. She seemed bewildered.

“Why did you do that?” Her voice was shrieky with disbelief. “I was--”

“I know,” Dean replied, his voice low. Moving down the bed, he positioned himself between her knees. Pulling her underwear down, Dean dropped down and ran his mouth over Marty’s hips. Kissing her hipbones, Dean ran his tongue over her soft skin. “What do you want, Ginger?”

“Kiss me!” Marty’s voice was high and shaky. She clapped a hand over her mouth when she realized what she was asking.

“Kiss you where?” Dean asked, as he moved his mouth across her abdomen, right above the mound of her sex.

“You know where.”

“I need you, Marty, to say it.” Dean closed his eyes as he got closer to her pussy. God, she smelled good, super-sweet.

“There,” Marty whispered.

Dean didn’t need any more encouragement. Throwing one leg over each of his shoulders, Dean buried his mouth between Marty’s lips. God, she tasted even sweeter than she smelled.

He dragged his tongue up over her entrance and clit, over and over again. The tip of his tongue caught her clit and Marty let out a cry. Flicking her clit back and forth with his tongue prompted more cries.

It didn’t take long before Marty grabbed Dean’s head and ground her pussy hard against his mouth, letting out a stream of incomprehensible words in one long scream. Marty’s whole body shook as Dean kissed the insides her thighs lightly.

“Wow,” Marty panted. She propped herself up on her elbows and looked down her body at where Dean was gazing up at her, smirking a little at his own cleverness and skill.

“Yeah?” he asked.

Marty flopped backwards against his pillow, arching luxuriously as little jolts of pleasure coursed through her.

“Again,” she breathed.


	21. Chapter 21

Colors to never wear on the first day of school: your school colors. Not even by mistake.

Marty learned that her first day freshman year. She was ribbed the whole day about choosing a green shirt. Too late, Marty discovered that her new high school’s colors were green and silvery-grey. The teasing got so bad, Ruby found Marty crying in the bathroom during lunch. So. Never again.

Still kind of high from her encounter with Dean the day before, Marty found herself pulling a pair of black capris and a red and black gingham shirt with cap sleeves out of her closet. Matching the outfit with a red tank top that had a scandalous (for her) neckline and a pair of black flip flops completed the look.

“Mary Martha!” Deborah called up the stairs. “Ruby’s here!”

Grabbing her purse, Marty swung herself down the stairs. Ruby whistled.

“Looking good, sista,” Ruby said.

“Yeah? Really?”

“You know you look great.” Ruby eyed Marty closely. “You look different.”

Marty’s cheeks went red. “Shut up. Bye, Mama.”

Deborah kissed Marty. “Have a good day, darling.”

Marty glanced over Deborah’s shoulder into the kitchen. “Did Daddy already leave?”

Deborah’s eyes flicked down to the modest swell of Marty’s cleavage. “Yes. And don’t you think it’s better he did?”

Without saying anything else, Marty and Ruby left Deborah standing in the front foyer. Heading out to Ruby’s car, Marty kept quiet.

“Penny for ‘em?” Ruby asked.

Marty shrugged, feeling sullen. “Nothin’. Just this is my last year of school and it’s the first year Daddy’s missed saying good-bye and Mama stared at my chest like my nipple was hanging out.”

Ruby opened her mouth to reply before hearing a shrill whistle from across the street. Sam and Dean were waiting by Dean’s car when the girls glanced over.

“Where you going?” Sam called to them. “Your chariot, ladies.”

Ruby and Marty exchanged delighted looks and rushed over. Dean gathered Marty close for a hug and warm kiss.

“Hey, Ginger,” he murmured. “How you feelin’?”

“Amazing,” Marty replied softly.

“Still?”

“Oh, so still.”

Marty let herself into the car, not seeing Ruby’s curious look from the backseat where she had curled up with Sam.

“Where’s your mom?” Ruby asked.

“She’s inside. She said good-bye,” Sam assured her.

Ruby looked nervously out the back window at the Winchesters’ still house. “Cool.”

Marty snickered. She’d never seen Ruby so concerned over a parent before. But neither of them had ever met a parent like Mary Winchester before.

The early morning sun glare nearly blinded the four friends who all scrabbled for their sunglasses at the same time. Dean cranked up a classic rock mix tape that warbled in some spots, but otherwise it added to the coolness factor Marty was feeling going up tick by tick inside her.

Dean roared his car into the student parking lot, turning every head there. In a lot crammed with pick-ups, a long, black muscle car was bound to make people take notice. The fact that it was driven by “the new kid” was another interesting fact. Especially when the car stopped and the occupants climbed out in. The pastor’s daughter? The pastor’s daughter’s friend Whatshername? Plus the two new kids? It was too much.

Leaning against the side of the car, Marty found herself lounging negligently against Dean with his arm slung carelessly over her shoulders. Ruby was sitting on the hood, her skirt hiked up to expose more leg than was particularly proper while Sam rested one hand on the inside of her knee. Dean and Sam surveyed the parking lot as other students stared and gossiped and walked by, ogling the foursome.

Marty had a flash that they looked like a 50s-style gang of teenage delinquents. Of all of them, Dean--in his low-slung jeans, black Docs, and snug and faded Rolling Stones t shirt--or Ruby--in her wrap-around miniskirt and sleeveless blouse--would complete the look by lighting up a cigarette.

The other kids walked by slowly, soaking in the whole scene. Marty leaned closer to Dean as a few girls made their observation of he and Sam painfully obvious. Marty raised her chin a classic teenage girl move that literally screamed “You got a starin’ problem?”

Ruby glanced at her phone before shoving it into her purse. “We should go in,” she sighed, annoyed.

Dean uncrossed his legs and stood up. “Let’s get this over with then.”

Making their way from the car to the door, the foursome strode through the parking lot, parting loitering groups of students. Ruby snapped her gum and tossed her dark hair over her shoulders, Sam’s arm around her shoulders. Marty copied the hair flip with considerably less flair, but the mystery that was Dean made her feel invincible, his arm around her waist, hand resting lightly on her hip. Dean and Sam managed to look completely bored and uninterested in the whole situation while being absolutely fascinating.

 _It’s amazing what a silent, condescending attitude can do for instant popularity,_ Marty thought.

The whole scene of the walk into the school felt like they were moving in slow motion while walking in complete sync, Sam and Ruby slightly behind Dean and Marty leading the way. So, when Sam commented “I feel like _Little Green Bag_ should be playing” to Dean, Marty laughed along with the other three at his Tarantino reference.

At the door, Sam headed off to the junior class homerooms. But not before Ruby kissed him long and hard enough so there was no mistaking that the handsome boy was already claimed.

Weber and Winchester shared a homeroom. Their appearance in the doorway stopped conversation momentarily. Just long enough to give Marty a surge of power.

 _So, that’s what this feels like,_ she thought.

With his thumb hooked through the back belt loop on her pants, Dean steered Marty to the back row. Sprawling out in a desk that barely contained his 6’1” frame, Dean surveyed the room before smiling at Marty.

“Doing good, Ging?” he asked.

“So good,” she replied and she actually meant it.

Mr. Eldridge, one of the math teacher and a church member Marty had known her whole life, entered the room. The talking quieted as he waited. His eyes scanned the students before falling on Marty and Dean. Marty smiled, but the silent greeting wasn’t returned. In fact, Mr. Eldridge's eyes narrowed for a split second at Dean. Marty felt a jolt of fear. Mr. Eldridge was friends with her father (they were church elders together) so he already had a preconceived notion about Dean Winchester. Frantically, Marty began counting all the other church members who taught at the school.

1 … 2 … 3 … 4 ...

“I have your schedules,” Mr. Eldridge announced in his dry voice. “Raise your hand when I call your name … Underwood.”

8 … 9 … 10 …

“Upworth … Ungvarsky …”

13 … 14 … 15 …

“Valentine … Valentino …”

17 … 18 … 19 …

“Washington, A … Washington, J … _Weber_ …”

Marty raised her hand as she hit 23. 23 teachers also in her church and half of them friends with her parents. Oh, good Lord.

“Whitmore … Whittman … _Winchester_ …”

Dean scarcely acknowledged his name, flicking two fingers at Mr. Eldridge. The homeroom turned as one entity as Mr. Eldridge made his way back to Dean’s desk.

“Mr. Winchester.” Mr. Eldridge barely held out Dean’s schedule, making Dean reach for it. “Welcome.”

Dean’s right eyebrow arched. “You sure about that?”

A collective intake of breath followed by quiet snickering went through the room as Marty smothered a giggle. Dean took his schedule card without looking at it.

“Yes.” Mr. Eldridge walked away, calling the next group of names.

“Lemme see.” Marty snatched Dean’s card, leaning across her desk with hers also to show Dean.

Comparing them, Marty pointed out delightedly that they had four classes and lunch together.

“Great.” Dean’s voice sounded pained as he took the index card back from her.

The first period bell ringing scattered the homeroom, sending students into the packed hallway to claim lockers and negotiate the crowd to their first class.

“Gimme.” Ruby appeared and took Marty’s schedule. “AP English? You nerd.”

“Dean and I have that together,” Marty reported proudly.

“ _Really_ ?” Ruby peered at Dean, who looked everywhere but at her.

“Yeah, sure.” Dean kissed Marty on the temple. “See ya then, Ginger.”

And then he disappeared into the scrum of teenagers. Ruby watched him go.

“I wonder if he knows he’s going the wrong way,” she commented.

Marty shrugged, feeling worried about Dean’s attitude. “He’ll figure it out.”

So, the first day of senior year officially began. Collecting books, syllabuses, and random lockers near other classes was hardly the highlight of Marty’s life, but walking into a class to see Dean already there or seeing him scan a room before seeing her and heading over made Marty’s heart thup. When every eye in the room followed their every move was especially awesome.

Marty suddenly found herself very popular. People that had never known her name or looked through her like she was a pane of glass just last year were saying hello. The complete anonymity of the first three years of Marty’s high school career was over thanks to her new boyfriend and his ice cool charisma. It was overwhelming.

Sam was already waiting at the car when Dean, Marty and Ruby left the school at last bell. Ruby had launched into her yearly rant about the weight of so many books while Marty ignored her and Dean chuckled appreciatively. Ruby only broke off her monologue long enough to kiss Sam hello.

“Did you stay away from all the other girls?” she teased him breathlessly.

“Every one,” Sam replied. “I only flirted with the guys.”

“Good boy.” Ruby swatted Sam’s ass as they climbed into the car.

Blaring The Who and using his car to forge a path through the throngs of departing students and cars, Dean was silent most of the 15 minute ride home. Marty watched him, feeling a rising taste of dread and concern in her throat. His silence was making her increasingly nervous for some reason. It wasn’t his usual taciturn quiet, the aloofness that made him so much more interesting than other guys. It was an edgy quiet that made Marty wonder what had happened to him when they weren’t in a shared class.

While Sam and Ruby chatted away, Marty slid across the front seat to nudge her way under Dean’s arm. He smiled down at her briefly before looking back at the road.

“What happened?” Marty asked.

“Not much,” he replied, shrugging a little.

“Liar.”

“Just the usual stupid ‘being the new kid’ shit,” Dean said.

“Stares? Whispers?”

“Yeah. And …”

“And?” Marty encouraged.

“And comments.” Dean’s freckled cheeks began to turn pink. His face closed down. The conversation was over.

Marty opened, then closed, her mouth. Anything bad enough to make Dean blush when he remembered it must have been pretty shitty indeed.


	22. Chapter 22

School went on as school always does. Day in, day out. Learning usually useless stuff that Marty was sure wasn’t going to make much difference in the long run when she went off to college. Dean had gotten over the issue he’d had on the first day; either that, or he didn’t bother to talk to Marty about it at all.

Back to school meant cutting back on her hours at work. Three times a week for five hours a day didn’t exactly line Marty’s pockets with cash, but between school and homework and Bible study every Wednesday, there wasn’t a lot of time for slinging pizzas. Dean, on the other hand, didn’t stop working at all. Some days, he dropped Marty, Sam, and Ruby off at home, then head right back to work until closing.

The only night Dean wouldn’t work was Friday night. He told Marty it was because he wanted one night, just one night a week, for them to have to themselves. Marty smiled when he said that and then had to break the bad news:

“But, Pretty Eyes, Friday nights are football nights.”

“What?”

“Football. Every Friday night, we go.”

Dean looked horrified. “I don’t … _football_?”

“Yeeees.” Marty felt confused. “Didn’t you go to football games in Chicago?”

“Jesus, no. Why?”

“Because it’s fun. And everyone’s there.”  
  
“Hell no.” Dean shook his head. “

“Dean!” Marty said.

“No way.” Dean shook his head.

“I cannot believe I’m here,” Dean muttered to himself as he trudged up the bleachers to Marty and Ruby’s perch at the top. “This is stupid.”

It was Friday night and Marty was leading Dean to her and Ruby’s usual spot. Ruby and Marty had claimed those seats as freshmen and hadn’t moved since. In fact, most of the people around them were the same as had been there four years ago.

“C’mon, Grumpy,” Ruby was saying to Sam, who seemed less than thrilled to be there too. “You wanna fit in? You gotta roll with the yokels.”

“Who says we wanna fit in?” Dean asked Ruby, annoyed.

Marty shoved her hands into the pockets of her windbreaker. A chill had settled as the sun started to set, promising that a crisp fall was coming. The only chill Marty was feeling at the moment was Dean attitude. And, frankly, she was already tired of it.

“Look, I know you don’t want to be here,” she soothed him like an angry child. “But, here we are and let’s make the best of it.”

Dean shot her a pissy look and settled against the back corner of the bleachers where the railing met the backstop. Ruby, Marty, and Sam sat around him. Suddenly, a voice shouted over,

“Yo! Winchester!”

Both Sam and Dean turned to look. It was Brad Kellerman, who raised a hand in greeting to Sam.

“Hey, Brad,” Sam called back.

“C’mere for a minute,” Brad insisted. Brad was standing in a cluster of other guys, all wearing baseball letterman jackets.

Sam rose to go over, but Dean caught him by the shirt.

“Sam,” Dean said.

“What?” Sam asked, looking down at his brother.

“What what? What’re you doin’?”

“Goin’ over to say hey,” Sam replied. He shook Dean loose, heading across the seats to the group of smiling guys, who greeted him like old friends.

“Who are they?” Dean asked.

Ruby glanced over. “Oh, that’s just Brad. He’s in our church and plays baseball.”

“How does Sam know him?”

“He met him at the picnic.” Ruby leveled Dean with a black-eyed stare. “You know. The one you skipped?”

“Stop it, Ruby,” Marty admonished her mildly as Dean slouched against the railing again, glaring over at Sam and his new group of friends. “What’s wrong with you?” Marty hissed at Dean. “Don’t you want Sam to have friends?”

Marty watched at 40 emotions played across Dean’s face in three seconds before he grumbled “Yeah. ‘S fine.” and pulled out his phone.

“Oh, my lord.” Marty turned away from her sulking boyfriend. “You’re more annoying than a skunk in a stewpot.”

That elicited a snicker from Dean. “You hick.”

“Just shut up,” Marty told him.

The game started. Marty forgot about Dean for a while as she watched and cheered. High school football on Fridays in the South is an institution as ingrained as college football on Saturdays and church on Sundays.

At halftime, while the band did their thing on the field, Marty dragged Dean to stand in line at the concession stand. Dean had barely looked up from his phone the whole first half.

“Will you stop with your damn phone?” Marty asked angrily.

“I’m ordering new tail lights for my car,” Dean replied.

“Right _now_?” Marty was astounded. “Is that what you’ve been doing all night long? Ordering _car parts_?”

“Not all night.” Dean shoved his phone into his back pocket as they inched up in line. “I was texting a few friends too.”

“You don’t have any friends around here.” Marty couldn’t stop her mouth.

“Chicago friends,” Dean replied nonchalantly, which infuriated Marty, but--before she could say anything--Dean had stepped up to the front of the line. “Whattya want, Marts? Hot dog?”

A barely-smothered giggle behind her made Marty turn around. Jennifer Tillinger and another girl were smirking at them and exchanging knowing looks.

“Problems, Mary Martha?” Jennifer Tillinger asked.

“Stuff it,” Marty snapped, turning away.

“Aw, bless your heart,” Jennifer Tillinger cooed as Dean and Marty moved out of line with their food.

Dean unleashed a mega-watt smile at Jennifer, setting Marty’s teeth on edge. Stalking away, she honestly didn’t care if he followed her or not.

The silent treatment is a tried and true revenge tactic employed for eons. There were probably cave writings about the silent treatment being used successfully between male and female Neanderthals during the Ice Age. But there was never a silent treatment as fierce as the one between Mary Martha Weber and Dean Winchester. It lasted so long, Ruby and Sam began taking bets on who would crack first.

“It’s gotta be Marty,” Sam said one afternoon as he and Ruby laid on her bedroom floor, half-dressed and staring at the ceiling.

“My money’s on Dean,” Ruby argued as she adjusted her clothes. “Marty’s a girl. We’ve been trained in this type of warfare since birth.”

“Whattya wanna bet?” Sam asked.

Ruby leaned up on one elbow and looked at the long form of her boyfriend sprawled across her floor. Pursing her lips, she considered her answer.

“Sex?” she offered.

Sam choked. “What?”

“Sex,” Ruby repeated. “If Marty breaks, we’ll have sex.”

“Really?” Sam’s voice squeaked excitedly.

Ruby smiled her best Cheshire cat grin. “Absolutely.”

Girls’ Wednesday Bible Study only usually had about 20 minutes of actual Bible study before it degenerated into a gossipfest. Marty mostly kept quiet during these fests since nattering on about other peoples’ problems were two things in her mind:

  1. UnChristian

  2. A waste of time




Before Dean, she would let her mind wander to going away to college and becoming her own person. After Dean, she would mostly think about how hot her boyfriend was. Shallow? Sure. But, man, he really was hot.

“So, Mary Martha,” Jennifer Tillinger’s voice broke through Marty’s veil of imagination. “How’s your boyfriend?”

You didn’t have to be a rocket scientist to know that Mary Martha Weber and Dean Winchester were fighting. The icy walls between them during classes would make Queen Elsa jealous.

“Stuff it,” Marty muttered.

Jennifer Tillinger grinned. “Does that mean he’s available?”

“Not to you,” Marty shot back.

A few girls laughed, but Jennifer Tillinger looked at Marty scornfully.

“You’re just so sad, Mary Martha,” she said. “And so very close to almost being someone.”

“It’s not my goal in life to be someone in this cruddy town,” Marty replied. “I’m not pathetic like you like that.”

“Okay, girls.” Linny Schneider entered the room. “All done?” When no one answered right away, Linny Schneider raised her voice, “Did you finish your Scriptures?”

“Yes, Mama,” Ruby replied for the group.

“See ya’ll next week then,” Linny Schneider turned to Marty. “You need a ride, hon?”

Marty shook her head. “Mama’s coming to get me.”

“I’ll walk you out,” Ruby offered.

With one arm around Marty’s shoulders, Ruby lead Marty out of the classroom.

The class of girls all stopped in the doorway at the same time. Marty and Ruby, bringing up the rear, walked into someone's back before they realized that the other girls were all silent and staring. Another girl turned, saw Marty, and poked her friend next to her.

"What's wrong?" Marty asked.

The girls, whispering and nudging each other, parted for Marty, who saw what had stopped them all cold: Dean had parked at the curb right outside the church. Leaning against the side of the car with his bowlegs crossed at the ankle and his arms behind him on the hood, propping him up. _Whole Lotta Love_ by Led Zeppelin pumped out of the car speakers at a volume inhumane to normal ears.

Seeing Marty at the top of the church steps, he smiled that wicked smile she loved so much and started up the steps. Taking them two at a time, he reached the group of girls and held his hand out to Marty.

“Ready, love?” he asked.

Marty took Dean's hand with a confident toss of her red hair.

“Absolutely,” she replied.

Dean, still holding her hand, looped his arm around Marty's waist as they walked down the steps together. He leaned over and kissed her on the corner of the mouth easily.

“Good study?” Dean asked. Marty nodded as she looked up into the handsome face of her very not fake boyfriend, who seemingly had forgotten they hadn’t spoken in nearly a week. “Good,” he said next. “I was thinking a picnic for dinner tonight? I got one in the car.”

Dean held the passenger door open for Marty, who slid into the long black car's front seat with the ease of someone who had done it hundreds of times. As Dean headed around to the driver's side, Marty glanced up at the church girls on the steps. Jennifer Tillinger was glaring down at her furiously. Next to Jennifer, Ruby looked slightly disappointed, but smiled and gave her a thumb’s up. Marty smirked at Jennifer and waved her fingers sarcastically. One girl waved back until she got a look from Jennifer Tillinger, then stopped immediately.

Dean got in and Marty scooched over to curl up next to him. Dean roared the car to life and drove off, leaving the Girls' Wednesday Bible Study group to stare after them in shock.


	23. Chapter 23

October 27th. Dean rolled over in bed and hugged his pillow closer to his face.

“Dean? Angel, you awake?” Mary Winchester called through his bedroom door.

“Yeah, Ma,” he groaned.

“I’m making breakfast. You wanna help?” she asked.

“Yeah, Ma.” Dean cleared his throat. “Give me a minute.”

Mary’s retreating footsteps prompted Dean out of bed. When Mary Winchester made Sunday breakfast, she made Sunday breakfast. Enough to feed the galloping hordes. Throwing on light grey pajama pants and a white tank top, Dean made his way past Sam’s room, banging on the door as he walked by.

“Get up, Sasquatch,” Dean shouted. “Mom’s waking breakfast.”

A huge thump, bump, crash, and exclamation of “Shit!” told Dean that Sam had gotten out of bed, tripped over something, knocked over something else, and then stepped on a third something in his haste to join them. Sam appeared in his doorway, wild-eyed and wild-haired. Dean snorted at him.

“What kinda breakfast?” Sam asked.

“Jesus, put some pants on.” Dean held up his hand to cover the view of Sam in his boxers. “Like I need to see that.”

Sam ducked back into his room, pulled on shorts, and followed the smell of bacon and coffee into the kitchen.

Mary smiled at her boys. “Morning, kids. Eggs? Bacon? Cinnamon rolls? Coffee?”

“God, I freaking love you, Mom,” Dean said, pouring mugs of coffee for himself and Sam, then freshening up Mary’s cup. “You want help?”

“Sure, angel. Make us some toast.” Mary expertly flipped bacon with one hand and eggs with the other. Without turning around, she ordered, “Sam, go back upstairs and put a shirt on.”

Sam glanced down at himself, huffed, and went to fetch a shirt. Mary glanced at Dean out of the corner of her eye.

“How’s Marty?” she asked, innocently enough.

“She’s great,” Dean replied honestly.

“You off your snit about the football games?”

Dean blushed. How did she know these things? After the douchey way he'd acted at the first game he’d gone to with Marty, Dean resolved to make an effort. He still refused to wear a Pumas shirt or school colors, but every Friday night found Dean Winchester at his high school football game, sitting at the top of the bleachers, in the corner with his girlfriend by his side.

“Yeah, I’m good now,” he replied.

“Good.” Mary smiled.

“She told you, didn’t she?” Dean asked.

“Of course she told me, you dolt,” Mary said. “I went to pick up a pizza for dinner and she told me everything, blushing like someone set her face on fire.”

Dean blew out an annoyed breath and rolled his eyes as the first batch of toast popped up. Since Mary already seemed to know everything, Dean figured he could broach the next topic of discussion with her.

“You know we’re going to the Halloween dance on Friday night, right?” he said.

“Sam mentioned that too.” Mary slid two fried eggs and a handful of bacon onto each plate before holding them out to Dean for toast. “He and Ruby are going as Rizzo and Kenickie from _Grease_. I’m hoping life doesn’t imitate art too much in that respect.”

“You know Rizzo isn’t pregnant in the movie, right?” Dean reminded her.

Mary shot Dean a glare. “You’re not helping.”

“Besides, Rizzo told Kenickie it wasn’t his anyway,” Dean continued, goading Mary playfully. “And then she sang _There Are Worse Things I Could Do_.”

“You gonna sing it for us too?” Sam asked, coming back into the room.

“Shut up and eat, Sasquatch,” Dean ordered.

Sitting down together, the Winchesters tucked into their food. Sam, as befit a growing lad, ate twice the amount of Dean and Mary. Conversation centered around school and work and the pleasantries of a family that got along well.

“So, what are you and Marty going to be for the Halloween dance?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Haven’t given it much thought, actually.”

“You should,” Sam insisted. “It’s on Friday and the costume shop in the mall’s been picked over pretty good.”

Dean rolled his eyes as he took a sip of coffee. “Great.”

“Why not …” Mary cleared her throat.

Dean understood immediately. “No, Mom.”

“What?” Mary asked innocently.

“No. Mom, no,” Dean said.

Sam looked confused. “What am I missing?”

Dean glanced at his younger brother. “Mom wants Marty and me to go as Danny and Sandy.”

Sam choked on his coffee. “Holy shit. That’s awesome.”

“Samuel, mouth,” Mary warned.

“You have to do it, Dean,” Sam said, ignoring Mary. “You have to.”

“Man, I dunno.” Dean’s doubt played across his face.

“Dude, c’mon,” Sam insisted. “Me and Ruby as Kenickie and Rizzo? You and Marty as Danny and Sandy?”

“Sam, you’re kidding, right?” Dean asked, but Mary and Sam could tell he was wavering. “I can’t pull off that. He’s a greaser.”

“Yeah,” Mary agreed. “He works on cars, wears a leather jacket, jeans, and a tee shirt. He’s overly-fond of his hair. How could you _ever_ make that work?”

The sarcasm dripping off their mother’s every word wasn’t lost on the boys.

The only two things on everyone’s lips at school: distress that the football game being pushed back to 5pm to make room for the Halloween dance at 8pm and excitement at who was wearing what as a costume for the Halloween dance.

It took until Wednesday for Marty to break down and ask Dean what they were wearing on Friday.

“I got this, Ginger,” Dean assured her, smiling at her in a way that completely infuriated her. “All you have to do is put on some makeup and pull your hair up into a ponytail.”

“Why can’t I just go get myself a costume?” Marty asked, sounding worried. “The Halloween store--”

“Because I already have your costume,” Dean interrupted as their teacher entered the room. “It’s hanging in my closet.”

“What the hell, Dean?” Marty exclaimed, then froze as the room froze, glanced at her, and burst into snickers.

“Am I interrupting something, Miss Weber?” the teacher asked.

Marty ducked her head into her chemistry book. Dean leaned back in his chair, satisfied that he finally had something over on her.

Friday was officially the longest day ever in Dean’s high school career. The anxiety of going to an actual school dance for the first time in his high school life was getting to him. Proms didn’t count. He’d been asked, multiple times by multiple girls, to a prom every year since he was a freshman. He’d gone, of course. No one in their right mind was going to turn down a prom, especially after that first one his freshman year when his date was so overcome with thanks, she took his virginity in the backseat of her father’s car.

Dean sighed as he slipped into his jeans and cuffed them. Well, he could take sex off the menu for tonight. Marty might be getting more free with her affection, but there was no way she was losing her virginity.

“Yo, you ready?” Sam asked from the hallway.

Dean looked at himself in the mirror: black jeans, white t-shirt, leather jacket, and black boots. He’d combed and gelled his hair into the best ducktail he could, but it was so short, it looked more spiky than it should have. Sighing, Dean opened his door.

“Lookin’ good, Zuko,” Sam said, taking a cigarette out of his mouth. Sam was dressed almost identically except for a blue t-shirt instead of white and a necklace with a small circle medal on it.

“Is that a real cig?” Dean asked. “Mom’ll kill ya if it is.”

“I’m trying to look authentic,” Sam said, tucking the real Marlboro behind his ear. Sam’s hair was longer than Dean’s, so his ducktail looked much more authentic. “What Mom’s really gonna kill us over is using all her gel and hairspray.”

Dean laughed. “True enough.”

Grabbing the plastic bag with Marty’s costume off his bed, Dean headed downstairs. Mary was reading in the living room and she burst out laughing when she saw her sons.

“You two look great,” she assured them when they both gave her wounded puppy dog looks. “Are the girls coming here?”

As if on cue, the doorbell rang. On the other side was Ruby, decked out in a skintight black pencil skirt, a black button down blouse, and a pink windbreaker with “Pink Ladies” scrawled across the back in black Sharpie. She certainly looked the part.

“Ruby!” Mary let her in. “You look really great. Love the skirt!”

Ruby smiled, but Dean could tell she was nervous. “Thanks, Mrs. W. It’s actually one of my own.”

Mary’s smile didn’t falter, but her eyes narrowed a tick. “Very nice.”

Ruby glanced around, desperate to make other conversation. “Is Sandy here yet?”

Dean held the bag up a little. “I still have to deliver Marty her costume.”

“Want me to?” Ruby offered. “Then I can shove her in it and out the door if she panics?”

“Would ya?” Dean handed Ruby the bag, looking relieved.

Ruby left, leaving Sam staring after her. Mary cleared her throat, bringing Sam back to earth.

“How about some pictures?” Mary asked.

“No way!” Dean held up his hands in self-defense.

“Please, Dean,” Mary said. “For prosperity? I haven’t seen you in a Halloween costume since you were 11.”

“C’mon, man,” Sam poked Dean in the side. “We look awesome.”

Dean finally relented and posed with Sam.

“Is that a real cigarette?” Mary suddenly demanded as the doorbell rang again.

“I’ll get it!” Sam cried out, running for it.

“Is that a real cigarette?” Mary asked Dean.

“He wanted to look authentic.”

“He’s gonna look grounded in a minute.”

Marty entered the room with Ruby pushing her from behind. Dean’s breath caught in his throat, which made him immediately feel stupid since Marty was wearing the Sandy cheerleader costume of red knee-length skirt and white sweater, complete with a huge red R across her chest and pom-poms. There was nothing the least bit sexy about that.

 _Well,_ Dean considered, _the sweater is a size too small. Nice job, buddy._

“I feel silly,” Marty was saying to Mary.

“Do you see Dean’s hair?” Mary asked. “Now that’s silly.”

“I’m right here,” Dean spoke up. “I can hear you.”

Mary smiled at her oldest son. “I’m aware. Now get over there, you two, and pose with your girlfriends.”

A few more snaps of Mary’s camera before Ruby pointing out that if they didn’t leave soon, the dance would be over before they even got there. Marty suddenly froze like a deer in headlights.

“Do we have to go?” she asked in a tiny voice.

Dean felt a surge of protection course through him. He slipped an arm around her waist.

“C’mon, Ginger,” he said softly. “Haven’t you always wanted to go to this thing with a date and in a corny couples costume?”

Marty smiled. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, here we are. I’m Danny. You’re Sandy. I’m a bad boy and you’re a good girl. You can’t get any more real life couple than that.” Dean glanced over at Sam and Ruby, who was messing with Sam’s necklace. “Or definitely any more real than those two.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Ruby teased.

“Dude, you were _born_ to be Rizzo, Schneider,” Dean told her.

Walking outside, Dean saw Mr. and Mrs. Weber standing on their front porch. Mary waved at them, smiling.

“Don’t they look great?” she called over.

Mr. Weber turned on his heel and went inside while Mrs. Weber waved back, smiling wanly.

“They certainly do,” she answered.

The foursome got into Dean’s car and waved to both moms before driving off. Mary paused, still looking across the street at Deborah Weber.

“Did you want to come over for a cup of tea?” Mary asked.

Deborah Weber didn’t even glance back at her house as she came down the front steps and headed over to Mary Winchester. When she reached Mary, Deborah looked pleased at her own gumption.

"I would love a cup of tea," she replied and the two women went into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My desire to see Dean Winchester (or Jensen Ackles, for that matter) done up like Danny Zuko from "Grease" knows no bounds. You all don't have a clue.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some sexy stuff, but not like actual sex stuff.  
> Here's the song that Dean remembers Marty dancing to in his room, "La Grange" by ZZ Top:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vppbdf-qtGU  
> Here's the song that sets Marty off to be a wild child, "Do You Wanna Touch Me" by Joan Jett:  
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ce8GM6gpIBU

The school gym was already packed by the time the cast of Grease arrived. Dean eyed the corny decorations (hay bales, scarecrows, fake pumpkins) before he caught sight of Freddy Krueger hanging by the neck from one of the basketball nets. He pointed it out to Marty.

“That’s pretty gruesome,” Marty laughed.

“What is?” Ruby asked. “Oh, who cares? I wanna dance. C’mon, Sam.”

Sam threw Dean a worried look as Ruby dragged him out into the throbbing mass of teenage bodies. Dean nodded after them.

“Wanna?” he asked.

Marty shook her head. “Oh, good grief. No way. Not yet.”

Dean let out a relieved sigh. “Thank fucking god. C’mon.”

Dean slipped his arm around Marty’s waist and they made their way into the clustered gangs of students.

“Hey, Winchester!”

Dean recognized one of the guys from his auto shop class done up like a vampire standing with few more of the undead and a handful of girls dressed like babies.

 _Why do girls want to wear that?_ Dean wondered as he half-waved and led Marty over. _It’s creepy._

“Hey, Benny. What’s going on?” Dean did that weird guy greeting that starts as a handshake then morphs into a one armed hug and pound on the back.

“Just killin’ time,” Benny replied. “Is this your girl?”

“Yeah. Marty, Benny. Benny, Marty.” Dean gestured between the two.

Marty’s shy smile looked (and probably felt) permanently glued to her face as Dean and Benny discussed car stuff. The girls in the group didn’t include her in their conversation, but turned away to obviously gossip about Dean and her. Dean could feel how stiff Marty felt next to him, and he gave her a little squeeze.

“You okay?” he mouthed at her when she looked up at him.

The fake Barbie smile on her face belied Marty’s true feelings. Dean kissed her on the top of the head before bidding Benny and the other guys good bye.

“Dance now?” Dean asked as a slow song started. “I can do slow songs.”

“Sure,” Marty’s cheeks pinked at the idea of being in Dean’s arms in front of the whole school.

With their arms around each other’s waists, Dean and Marty swayed along with the music. God might not have given Dean a lot of rhythm when it came to fast songs, but there wasn’t a thing wrong with the way he moved Marty around the dance floor during a ballad. Dean felt Marty relaxed against him, her body curving into his arms, cheek resting against his chest. Dean rested his chin on the top of her head and closed his eyes. The smell of her hair (aloe and water lily shampoo; he’d checked the last time he was at her house) filled his nose, making him smile a little.

Marty to the outside world was sweet and unassuming, much like her shampoo. But, Dean’s smile grew a little wider, there was that private Marty. That girl who came out to play behind a closed bedroom door: a teasing little minx who once stopped kissing his chest to leap off the bed and dance around the room to _La Grange_ by ZZ Top, half dressed with her red hair flying and her hips swaying. Dean really liked both of those Martys. They both had their good points.

“Havin’ a good time?” the dj howled into his microphone suddenly as the song came to an abrupt end. The dance floor and its outer fringe of students cheered. “So, we have another song request. To the cast of _Grease_ \--apparently, they’re here tonight, I didn’t know--I give you: _The Hand Jive_.”

“Mar- _teeeee_!!!” Ruby screamed from across the dance floor, dragging Sam behind her as she barreled over people to get to where Dean and Marty were standing.

“I _know_!!” Marty screamed back. Turning to her shocked boyfriend, Marty exclaimed, “Ruby and I have been preparing _our whole lives_ for this minute!”

“Your whole lives?” Dean teased.

“Shut up and hold these.” Marty thrust her pom-poms into Dean’s hands as Ruby grabbed her arm and pulled her away.

The song started and Ruby and Marty began to hand jive. Dean had to admit. They had it down. In fact … Dean tilted his head … were they doing to full Sandy/Danny hand jive dance routine from the movie?

“Are they--” Sam began, leaning over to Dean.

“They are,” Dean agreed.

“Okay.” Sam turned back.

The dance floor around them either copied the hand movements, knew them already, or were just dancing along for fun. Bemused, Sam and Dean stood off to the side with most of the other guys. Synchronized dance moves were not a dude thing, no matter what the movies said.

“Holy _shit_!” Sam cursed as Ruby flipped Marty around her, jitterbug-style.

“They have been preparing their whole lives for this minute,” Dean commented, setting the brothers into laughter.

“I dunno if I’m turned on or scared by that,” Sam said.

“Both?”

“Both.”

Dean nodded sagely. “Both is good.”

The night went on. It was only a matter of time before Sam broke down and danced a few fast songs with the girls (including a pretty enthusiastic _Harlem Shake_ that had Dean laughing his ass off), leaving Dean leaning against the wall on the sidelines to talk with Benny and the auto shop guys. It wasn’t until the heavy guitar chords of a rock song started that Dean looked up. Marty was making serious eye contact with him from across the floor. He knew this song. What was this song? When Joan Jett’s throaty voice began to sing, Dean felt a jolt of energy course through him. Oh, shit. _This song_.

Leaving Benny and the guys, Dean headed into the sweaty throng of dancers. Marty was watching him come over, rolling her hips like her life depended on it. When he reached her, Dean grabbed Marty close and she undulated her whole body against him as the chorus echoed through the gym:

“Do you wanna touch?/(Yeah)/Do you wanna touch?/(Yeah)/Do you wanna touch me there, where?”

Marty sang the words up to him as she moved as seductively as was allowed without getting caught by the chaperones. Dean leaned over, his large hands played over the small of her back.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish, Ginger,” he breathed in her ear.

Marty’s hazel eyes were surprisingly lusty. It must be the song.

“Who says I won’t?” she replied.

Dean’s hormones were all for seeing how far Marty would take the teasing. The last time this song had played, Marty turned a hot make out session into a soft-core porn scene, grinding her naked pussy against his hard cock, humping him like it was her job. Dean watched as she moved, holding onto her waist as she ground on him, as Marty’s face went from playful to serious. Reaching behind him, she clutched his thighs and arched her back, moaning. Dean licked his thumb and worked her clit in circles until she came on him, crying out his name, her head flung back, which made Dean grit his teeth and hold back his own orgasm. It took all his strength not to flip her onto her back and take her right there, virginity be damned.

If there was one thing Dean learned going out with Marty, it was rigorous self-restraint.

The song ended with Marty’s back pressed against Dean’s chest, her ass lined up with his hips, Dean’s hands under her sweater and splayed across her belly. He spun her around in his arms as the next song started and kissed her hard. Marty kissed back, clutching onto his white shirt.

“Come with me,” Dean ordered hoarsely when their kiss broke. “Now. Right now.”

“Yes,” Marty agreed breathlessly and they left the gym in a rush.

Heading into the parking lot, Dean and Marty made their way to the car as quickly as they could without actually running. Dean had no idea what was going to happen between them, but there was no way he was going to let this opportunity pass him by.

“Dean, wait!” Marty cried.

“No! _Goddamn_ it!” Dean yelled, stopping in his tracks.

“No, you idiot! Look!” Marty pointed at the car.

There was no mistaking that Dean’s car was already occupied. The windows were steamed over and there was a faint glow from the backseat. Dean cocked his head to the side, staring in disbelief.

“No fucking way,” he managed to get out. “In _my_ car?”

Marty began to giggle. “Are they …?”

The car moved slightly, then began to buck back and forth on its shocks. Dean dropped Marty’s hand to cover his face with both of his.

“Holy shit,” he muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair, completely destroying his ducktail. “This isn’t happening.”

Marty had both of her hands over her mouth as she broke down into a wicked giggle fit. Dean collapsed onto the hood of the closest car. Smiling ruefully at his rocking car then back at Marty, who looked on the verge of hysterics, Dean pulled her close and kissed her on the mouth.

“Want to go back in?” he asked.

“Yes,” Marty replied immediately. “I don’t want to witness any of _that_.” Marty waved her hand in the general direction of Dean’s car.

“My poor baby. Being violated like that,” Dean groaned as they walked back into the school.

“Like you’ve never done the same thing in her,” Marty teased.

“It’s _my_ car,” Dean insisted. “They better not get anything on the seat.”

Marty snorted. “Bet they do.”

Dean swatted her on the butt as they re-entered the gym. “You shut your mouth, woman.”

The dance ended, forcing the students out of the gym en mass. Marty and Dean headed back to the car, not discussing the possibility that whatever activity that had been happening in the backseat may not have concluded yet.

“Oh, it’s concluded,” Dean said confidently when Marty mentioned it. He glanced down at the girl at his side. “It was over before we even got back to the gym.”

“How do you--?” Marty began.

“Believe me.” Dean’s tone brokered no argument, so Marty went with it.

Ruby and Sam were sitting on the hood of Dean’s car, looking slightly abashed at not making it back inside before everyone came outside. For two people who’d spent the better part of the evening in the backseat of a car, they seemed rather well put together.

“Kids,” Dean greeted them evenly.

“Hey,” they replied.

“Are we ready to head home?” Dean asked.

Ruby and Sam exchanged a glance. “Sure.”

Two seconds of silence was all they got before Dean growled, “You better not have fucked up the seats.”

“No!” Ruby cried at the same time Sam said, “I had a towel!”

“A … _towel_?” Dean asked incredulously. “So, you planned this?”

“No!” Ruby replied at the same time Sam replied, “Maybe a little.”

“Oh, my god.” Ruby ran her hand through her hair and let herself into the car.

The ride home was mostly silent, minus the radio. Dean wasn’t exactly seething at the defiling of his baby, but he wasn’t exactly thrilled either. Once the girls were dropped off, Sam and Dean found themselves standing in the driveway, leaning against the car before heading in.

“Sam, look, I don’t care that you, you know, had sex,” Dean began, feeling awkward around his brother for the first time in a long time, “but in the car? Man, c’mon. It should’ve been somewhere else. Anywhere else.”

“We never found a good time,” Sam said lamely.

“That’s bullshit.” Dean replied. “Me and Marty find lots of time to mess around when no one’s around.”

“Yeah. Well …” Sam shrugged.

Dean watched as his younger brother jammed his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. Knowing that the time for a big brother lecture was not right then, Dean changed tactics.

“So? How was it?”

Sam grinned. “Awesome. So good. Great. Better than I could imagine.”

Dean made a sympathetic noise. “Sucked, huh?”

“Jesus, so fucking bad,” Sam replied immediately, clapping a hand to his forehead. “It was over before it started and it really hurt her and she wanted to stop before I was even all the way in there and then she moved to get off me and her knee slipped on the leather and she landed all the way down on me and she screamed a little and almost cried and I didn’t know what to do and then I kinda shifted a few times and she made this moany sound but I think it was a pain sound and then it was over.”

“Shit, Sammy.” Dean squeezed his brother’s shoulder. “I’m sorry. But I swear to god, it gets better. It gets so much better.”

Sam shrugged as they headed into the house. “Ruby swore we’d never do it again.”

Dean chuckled as he unlocked the door. “They always say that when it’s their first time.”

“Hello, boys,” Mary Winchester said from her spot on the couch. Sam and Dean jumped at her voice. Mary closed her book and stood up, gathering her robe around herself. “Did you have a good time?”

Sam froze. Never had one teenage boy looked more guilty in his entire life.

“Yeah. Great. Thanks. Good night!” he managed to strangle out before bolting upstairs.

Mary turned to Dean. “Dean?”

Dean held up his hands. “I’m not getting involved.

“Dean Winchester,” Mary said before giving him a Mom Glare.

Dean wavered for a half a second, then shook his head. “No. Sorry, Mom. I love you, but if you want to know anything about Sammy, you have to ask him yourself.”

Mary sighed, looking and sounding defeated. “I know. I just don’t want to embarrass him.”

Dean hugged Mary and kissed her cheek. “Mom, no one can embarrass Sam more than he’s already embarrassed himself.”


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sexy stuff ahead. Not sex (not yet), but sexy stuff.

“What are you doing for Thanksgiving?” Marty asked Dean.

“Hmmph?” Dean opened his eyes lazily and looked up at her.

Marty continued to card her fingers through Dean’s short hair. Dean sighed contently, closing his eyes again.

“Dean?” Marty tugged what hair she could get a grip on playfully.

“I dunno, Ginger,” Dean replied without opening his eyes again. He smiled a little as Marty ran her thumb over his lips. Catching the pad of her thumb between his teeth suddenly, he bit down gently. “Probably eating whatever food Mom puts in front of me until my jeans get too tight, then falling asleep on the couch until it’s time to eat a whole pumpkin pie by myself.”

“How do you not weigh 300 pounds?” Marty laughed. Dean’s appetite had become legendary. He could eat a full dinner at his house, then another one when Deborah offered him “a little something” at Marty’s house.

“Good metabolism?” Dean guessed. “Why are you asking about Thanksgiving already?”

A loud thump over their heads made Marty and Dean glance at the ceiling. There was no guessing what Sam and Ruby were up to in Sam’s room. Since their disastrous first time (which they both confessed to Marty and Dean was the worst thing that had _ever_ happened to either of them), Sam and Ruby had made it their personal mission to get better at sex. They did it any chance they could, making Marty wonder if they were going for some kind of world record.

“Again?” Marty asked.

“Still,” Dean answered. “Ruby was here for an hour before you came over. I haven’t seen either of them since.”

“Good Lord,” Marty chuckled. “So, Thanksgiving?”

“Already covered that, Ging,” Dean said. He snuggled closer to her waist, so the side of his face touched the button on her jeans. “What’s with this sudden Thanksgiving zeal?”

“I want you to come over for Thanksgiving,” Marty told him in a rush. “My family’ll be there and they all want to meet you.”

“Who now?” Dean asked, eyes popping open.

“My family,” Marty repeated. “Grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins. The whole--why do you look like you’re gonna throw up?” Dean swallowed hard, but didn’t answer. Marty rolled her eyes. “Oh, for crap’s sake, Dean. Is this the part of the conversation where you tell me you don’t do families like how you don’t do shorts?”

“Ginger, your dad barely tolerates me,” Dean said. “How will your sweet grandma deal with my non-church going ass?”

“She won’t care,” Marty told him. “And I’m serious this time. Granny hasn’t set foot in a church since Poppy died from cancer 6 years ago.”

Dean cocked his head to the side. “Really? What happened?”

Marty shrugged a little. “Granny went to church every day to ask God to help cure Poppy. She left the medicine up to science and she took on the whole praying thing on her own. No matter how much she prayed and how much her church prayed, Poppy still died.” Marty blinked and a few tears escaped. She swiped them away quickly. “It was hard for her. It was hard for all of us.”

Dean nodded. “I could imagine.”

A muffled cry from Sam’s room broke the solemn mood, making them both laugh.

“Sounds like Sammy might be getting the hand of it,” Dean commented.

“I’m sorry we’re not having sex,” Marty said suddenly.

Dean almost choked on his tongue, but recovered quickly. “I told you I could wait as long as you needed.”

Marty shrugged, feeling her cheeks starting to go red. “I still feel--feel like we could-- _I_ could--be doing … more?”

Marty couldn’t help but see the incredibly hopeful look in Dean’s eyes, even though his face and voice stayed perfectly placid.

“Whatever you feel comfortable doing, Ginger,” he said.

“Or whatever you feel comfortable _teaching_ me?” Marty said helpfully.

The hopeful look in Dean’s eyes was quickly replaced by a wild blaze of excitement, but his response of “If you want” was so evenly delivered, Marty was sure he would explode if she said anything else.

So. She did.

“Oral sex?” she asked.

“Holy shit.” Dean let out the two lungfuls of air he’d been holding. He sat up quickly and twisted to look Marty in the face. “Are you serious? You’re not serious. Seriously?”

“You look like a really excited puppy,” Marty teased.

“Yeah, well. This is big.” Dean didn’t even attempt to apologize for his reaction.

Marty touched Dean’s face, running her fingers over his cheek. “Well? Before I lose my nerve?”

Dean grabbed her hand. “No way. I’m not letting this opportunity get away from me.”

Marty was in Dean’s room and behind a locked door faster than she realized two people could move. Turning up his MP3 player to drown out the calisthenics going on in the next room, Dean gathered Marty up in his arms. Marty felt herself melt against his chest like she always did.

“You smell so nice,” she murmured.

“Changing your mind?” Dean asked, lifting her chin so he could look her in the face.

Marty bit her bottom lip, shaking her head a little. “No.”

“You sure?” Dean asked.

“Are you?” Marty shot back.

“Are you kidding me?” Dean replied. “Come here.”

Dean kissed Marty, harder than he probably meant to. Marty’s stomach flipped a little at the idea of what she’d gotten herself into, but there was an underlying thrill in it too. Laying next to each other, Dean let Marty take his shirt off and nibble her away over his chest. They both knew she was just biding her time until she went a little lower, but she needed to move at her own pace.

Working her way over Dean’s belly, Marty’s mouth hit his belt buckle. Looking up at him through her lashes, Marty could see Dean had propped himself up on his pillows to get a better view.

“Just so I can see what’s happening,” he said without her even saying a word.

Marty laughed as she unbuckled his belt, watching as Dean inhaled half the air in the room in anticipation. Dean lifted his hips off the mattress so Marty to pull his jeans down.

“All the way off,” he said quietly and Marty complied, dropping them on the floor. “Good. Now kiss--” Dean’s voice cut off as Marty positioned herself between his legs and started kissing his thighs.

Marty felt Dean’s legs tighten under her lips. Nipping along the insides of his thighs toward the bottom of his boxer briefs, Marty loved the way his breathing seemed to be getting a little faster.

 _And I haven’t even done anything yet,_ Marty thought, smiling a little.

“Now what?” she whispered next.

“Take them off,” Dean replied quietly.

Marty drew in a deep breath and slid Dean’s underwear down his legs so slowly, it was like torture. She managed not to look at his whole body, realizing that she’d never actually seen him naked yet. Knowing she’d have to look eventually, Marty raised her eyes from his knees to his dick.

“Holy shit,” she gasped out before she could stop herself.

“That was fucking hot,” Dean told her.

Marty met Dean’s heavy-lidded gaze. “I’m already in this deep.”

“Might as well curse?” Dean asked, closing his eyes as Marty’s hands ran up and down his chest.

“Yes,” Marty breathed on his belly.

“Love it,” Dean whispered.

Marty kissed Dean’s belly. She knew what was coming, but it was still terrifying. Just laying on a bed with Dean fully dressed went against everything she’d been taught her whole life.

“You okay?” Dean asked.

Marty nodded without opening her eyes. Inching down, Marty felt the tip of Dean’s dick brush her jawline. Blindly, Marty put her tongue out and caught the head of Dean’s cock with it. Dean let out a short huff of breath. Encouraged, Marty kissed the head.

“Just like that, Ginger,” Dean said suddenly. “Don’t forget to use your tongue when you kiss it.”

Marty rolled her tongue over the head. A taste of salty precum slipped over her tastebuds, making her pause. Dean groaned a little.

“Lick the underside,” Dean suggested. “Top to bottom.”

Dragging her tongue up the back of Dean’s cock to the top, Marty popped the head back in her mouth. Looking up at Dean while she tongued him, Marty was surprised to see Dean meeting her gaze.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Making eye contact is hot as hell.”

“Suck it now?” Marty asked quietly.

Dean moaned at her idea, which told Marty she was on the right track.

 _Pretend it’s a lollipop,_ Marty told herself and began to suck.

“Not just the head!” Dean gasped suddenly. He was gripping the blanket under him in both fists, his body rigid. “Go further down, love.”

Marty slid her mouth as far down the shaft of Dean’s dick as she could. Gagging a little, she pulled back.

“Just like that. Oh, god,” Dean moaned.

Up, down. Up, down. Marty rolled her tongue over the hard length of Dean’s cock. Dean stopped giving her hints and let his moans tell her that she was doing the right thing. With her hands on either side of Dean, Marty laved his dick until his hips started to thrust up to meet her lips.

“I’m gonna cum!” he gasped.

Marty yanked her mouth off him, forcing Dean to clutch his dick and jerk. With his other hand, he grabbed one of  Marty’s hand and wrapped it around his shaft too.

“Jerk it,” he growled at her between gritted teeth.

Moving her hand in tandem with him, Marty helped Dean finish himself off manually. Cum splattered in long white ropes across his belly. When Dean’s hips stopped stuttering against their hands, Marty watched as he pulled a small towel out of his night stand drawer and wiped himself clean.

“Was I--” she began.

“Holy shit, Marty, don’t even ask,” Dean interrupted, his green eyes glassy with slaked lust.

“So … yes then?”

“C’mere.” Dean held his arms and Marty, fully clothed, curled up next to Dean’s naked body. He kissed the top of her head, then lifted her lips to his for a long, lingering kiss. When their kiss broke, he smiled softly. “Yes. Don’t even think you weren’t awesome at that.”

Marty blushed, smiling at her gorgeous boyfriend. “Good.”

Dean arched one eyebrow. “Want me to return the favor?”

Marty felt her whole body start to tingle as Dean started to kiss her neck. Pulling her shirt off for him, Marty stopped Dean’s kissing long enough to look him in the eyes.

“Tell me anything,” she said.

Without hesitating, Dean replied, “I love you.”

Marty blinked, her mouth falling open. “What?”

“You heard me.” Dean’s lips curled into a Cheshire cat grin. “Want me to say it again?”

Marty shook her head. “I heard you the first time.”

“Good.” Dean slid Marty’s jeans and panties off in one quick movement. “Just remember who said it first.”


	26. Chapter 26

Thanksgiving week meant charity work for Marty and Ruby. Every year, the boys’ and girls’ youth groups get together and pack care boxes of food for the poorer families in the community. It was easy, there was music and laughing, and--nerdily enough--it made Marty feel good.

This year Sam tagged along with the girls. The guys on the baseball team had officially adopted Sam as one of their own, insisting he try out for the team come spring, so it was the idea of hanging out with them that really spurred Sam to volunteer to help with the food drive. Regardless of the reason, just the fact Sam was there moved him up higher into a positive approval rating with Ruby’s parents.

Dean, on the other hand. Well, let’s just say Dean was being Dean.

“He’s working again?” Ruby asked.

Marty looked up from her stacks of boxed stuffing mix. Blowing a hunk of hair out of her eyes, she shrugged.

“Always,” Marty said. “He says it’s for Christmas, but Christmas is over a month away.”

“ _Only_ a month away,” Ruby corrected her. “Maybe he’s saving up to buy you something sparkly.”

Marty made a face. “I don’t want sparkly. I want … I want …” Marty’s eyes flicked over to where Sam was laughing with a few other guys while loading full boxes of food onto a cart. “I want _that_.”

“ _That’s_ mine,” Ruby laughed.

Marty smiled. “You know what I mean,” she said. “I wish Dean would get involved like Sam has.”

“Sam’s a rare breed,” Ruby told her. “He wants to be involved, so he is. Dean’s so used to being the adult and taking care of everyone, he doesn’t know how to be a kid and have fun.”

“I don’t understand that,” Marty said. “How is he always the adult? What about their mom? She should be the adult.”

“She is,” Ruby answered as she pushed the box she’d been working on down the table to Marty. Marty jammed two boxes of stuffing into it and moved it to the next girl. “But Dean feels responsible. Sam’s always talking about how Dean is the man of the house.”

“I wonder what happened to their dad,” Marty mused, looking over at the door again, hoping to see Dean saunter in.

Ruby sighed. “Sam’s not saying a word about him.”

“Neither does Dean.”

“It can’t be good.”

Sam glanced across the room, saw them watching him, and made a muscle at them before heaving a box onto the cart. Ruby and Marty both smiled and rolled their eyes. Laughing, Sam went back to his friends.

“It must be bad,” Marty said softly.

Ruby nodded. “You know it is.”

Before Marty could speculate about how bad Dean and Sam’s dad was, Pastor Schneider walked to the middle of the room, clapping his hands for attention.

“Keep working, keep working,” he said even though no one in the room had stopped. “I’m so happy to see new faces here with us this year. It shows what a good community we have.”

Sam Winchester’s face was the only new face in the crowd and it turned red when people glanced his way. He shuffled his feet, trying to look small and invisible so everyone would stop looking at him. Ruby beamed with pride that her boyfriend was being singled out for once instead of being shoved unceremoniously to the corner and then forgotten about. Marty scowled down at the boxes of stuffing in front of her. Dean and his stupid work schedule.

After dinner, Marty sprawled out on the loveseat in the den, reading _Jane Eyre_ for English. It wasn’t the first time Marty had read Charlotte Bronte’s novel, but it was the first time she had to do homework on it. This made re-reading one of her favorite books considerably less enjoyable.

“Hello, sweetie,” River Song’s voice chirped out from Marty’s phone. Dean’s text alert.

_hey, ginger_

_hey, pretty eyes_

_how’s the reading going?_

_you know, i used to love this book_

_lol yeah. homework can do that_

_what else are you doing?_

_talking to my hot girlfriend_

_do i know her?_

_lol dork_

_what’s your birthstone?_

Marty paused, her heart thudding in her ears. It took her so long to answer, Dean sent her another message:

_ging?_

_what?_

_what’s your birthstone?_

_i was born in december_

_yeah, december 12_

Marty bit her lip. Why was Dean asking about her birthstone? Was it her birthday or Christmas present? Was he getting her something, in Ruby’s words, _sparkly_? So many questions!

_never mind. i’ll google it_

Marty could practically see Dean making a pissy face at his phone.

_dean?_

_yeah?_

_what are you getting me?_

_LMAO like i’m gonna tell you_

“Shouldn’t you be doing your homework?” Deborah asked from across the room, where she was sewing throw pillows for Christmas.

“I am,” Marty replied defensively.

“It looks like it,” Deborah said mildly.

_gotta go. text later_

_kay. bye_

Marty shoved her phone under her leg and glared at her book. Dean was so infuriating. He better not get her anything too expensive. Glancing over at Deborah, Marty pursed her lips before asking,

“Mama?”

“Yes?”

“What did you get Daddy your first Christmas together?”

“Our first Christmas dating or our first Christmas married?”

“Dating.”

Deborah paused as she thought back. “I got him a book about the Wildcats. He got me a Bible with my name on the cover in gold.”

Marty grimaced. “Sounds just like him.”

Deborah tsked at her. “I asked for it.”

Marty shrugged with one shoulder. Deborah sewed for another minute, waiting for more conversation.

“Mama?”

“Hmmm?”

“Can we have the Winchesters over for Thanksgiving?”

“If they’ll come.”

“Won’t Daddy protest?”

Deborah looked thoughtful. “I suppose. But hospitality is hospitality and, with all the family here, how can he be against it?”

“So, I can ask them?” Marty asked, pulling her phone out again.

Deborah smiled. “Ask away.”

_pretty eyes?_

_yeah?_

_mama says you, sam, and your mom can come over for thanksgiving dinner_

_hang on. lemme run it by mom_

Marty waited for what felt like 40 years before “Hello, sweetie” let her know Dean was back.

_we’re gonna eat dinner together, then go to ruby’s for dessert round one. can we do your house for dessert round two? how’s that sound?_

_let me ask mama_

Deborah agreed that Dean’s plan was a better idea. Marty felt her stomach lurch despite her smile. Dean, Sam, and Mary Winchester facing her family. Southern hospitality can only go so far. Marty said a quick prayer that _everyone_ behaved themselves.

The last day of school before Thanksgiving break found Dean and Marty skipping their last period study hall to make out in the stairwell near the exit to the student parking lot. Dean had pinned Marty to the wall, out of the way of curious eyes peeking in through the stairwell’s windowed door.

Dean’s kisses were long and slow. Marty could feel her knees growing weaker and weaker as their kissing got deeper. One of Dean’s hands was buried deep in her hair, fingers tangled around the length of it, his other hand pressed against the curve of her back which held her firmly against him.

There was nothing that made Marty feel sexier than feeling Dean’s breathing speed up when they were close. She knew he held back from pushing her faster than she wanted to go, but there were some days when they were alone together … and their bodies were close … and Dean’s lips were grazing her neck … and his hands were running under and into her clothes … and she could feel how hard he was … that Marty couldn’t help but wonder if giving in … and having sex with him …

Marty shook her head a little. No. Don’t think about that. Not _now_.

Dean broke their kiss. “You okay, Ginger?” he whispered.

“Yes,” Marty replied breathlessly.

Dean laughed, a deep rumble in his chest, sending a vibration through Marty’s whole body. Out of the corner of her eye, Marty saw a figure go by the door to the hallway. The figure stopped and started to come toward the stairwell.

“C’mon!” Marty grabbed Dean’s arm and started tugging him out the door to the parking lot.

The two of them escaped into the lot before the person coming into the stairwell could see who they were. Ducking behind a truck in the parking lot, Marty began to laugh.

“You minx,” Dean teased. “You’re getting worse and worse.”

“Under your influence,” Marty told him.

“I like you under my influence,” Dean replied.

“Is that its name now? _Influence_?” Marty asked, tugging gently at Dean’s belt.

“Jesus,” Dean breathed, shaking his head.

Kissing resumed, harder now, their hands scrabbling for bare skin under layers of clothes. The amount of shirts Dean wore--Marty decided--was absolutely ridiculous. There was no reason for someone with such an amazing body should ever be _that_ covered up.

School ended and Dean dropped Sam, Ruby, and Marty off at the church to finish packing the last boxes before Thanksgiving. Before she went inside, Marty leaned in the driver’s side window.

“You sure you won’t help, Pretty Eyes?” she asked, laying a hand on the side of Dean’s face.

Dean leaned into her palm, smiling a little. “Yeah, I’m sure, Ging. I have things to take care of.”

“Okay. See ya.” Marty blew him a kiss and went inside.

Music blared out of the church’s sound system. Someone had burned a CD of Christian rock, the atmosphere was more party than work. There was yelling, laughing, a little dancing here and there. Ruby lead Sam in a little country two-step around the room. Sam tripped over his own feet, prompting more laughter through the room. Sam’s clumsiness crashed them into a table, knocking over boxes of muffin mix.

“Who wants pizza?” someone yelled over the din and a cheer went up.

Ruby skipped happily over to Marty. Marty couldn’t help but smile up at Ruby’s pink-cheeked face.

“You really like him,” Marty said.

Ruby bumped Marty with her hip. “Of course I do. I wouldn’t … you know … if I didn’t.”

“You’re different now, though,” Marty said. “You’re happier.”

Ruby smiled, her cheeks, flushed from dancing with Sam, went even redder. “He makes me happy. I like myself better because of him.”

Marty swallowed. There was something wrong about liking yourself more because of a guy, but Ruby was happy, so Marty held her tongue. Besides, whose guy was there and whose guy wasn’t?

Pastor Schneider left the room to fetch the pizzas that had been ordered and came back in the front of a large pack of guys.

“Mary Martha, someone is here for you,” Pastor Schneider called over.

Marty looked up and gasped. Dean was there. Not only was he there: he’d brought reinforcements. Standing behind him were the guys from his auto shop, hulking, grinning, looking around.

Leaving her place at the table, Marty rushed across the room to hug Dean. He caught her up and kissed her in front of everyone.

“What are you doing here?” Marty asked. She looked behind him excitedly at the gang of motorcycle-booted and rock and roll t-shirted guys. “What are you all doing here?”

“Winchester said you needed some muscle,” Benny answered, grinning wolfishly. “We’re your muscle, Weber.”

“That’s awesome,” Pastor Schneider said, smiling. “Welcome, guys!”

“Thanks, brother.” Benny clapped Pastor Schneider on the back and almost sent the pastor flying off his feet.

Pastor Schneider put the auto shop guys to work, carrying boxes out the waiting vehicles. Dean put himself to work next to Marty, but was more interested in messing with her than packing boxes.

“Whatcha doin’?” Dean asked, poking her in the side.

“I’m working,” Marty told him. “Will you stop?”

“What time are we done?” Dean asked next.

“We’re done when we’re done,” Marty replied. “I thought you were here to help.”

Dean huffed prettily. “Fine. I’ll go _load boxes_.” He rolled his eyes before stomping off. “Work, work, work. You’re a slave driver, Weber!”

Marty ducked her head as Dean heaved a box of donated food into his arms and headed out of the church. Watching Dean come in and out with his gang of shop friends and mingle with the guys from the youth group, Marty couldn’t help but grin. For a guy who never wanted to be involved with anything, Dean seemed completely at home loading donated boxes of food for needy families into his beloved car.

Hours later when the last box had been packed and put into a trunk of a car driven off to be delivered, Marty found herself being lifted onto the hood of Dean’s car. He positioned himself between her legs and rested his hands on her hips. Marty felt a little thrilling shiver up her spine as Dean’s mouth neared hers.

“Your lips …” she murmured.

“Want yours,” Dean replied softly.

“You’re a smooth talker, Winchester,” Marty giggled.

“Kiss me, Weber,” Dean said.

Marty scooted closer to the edge of the hood so she wrap her legs around Dean’s hips as they kissed. A loud hoot from across the parking lot broke their liplock before it got too deep. Dean and Marty looked over to see some of Dean’s auto shop buddies leaving.

“Way to go, Winchester!” one yelled.

“C’mon, Dean! Slip her the tongue!” another agreed.

“Shut up, assholes!” Dean shouted, making Marty laugh. Only Dean Winchester could yell ‘assholes’ in a church parking lot without getting in trouble.

“You were really great tonight,” Marty said, bringing Dean’s attention away from his friends. Dean turned back to her, regarding her with a soft smile and heavy-lidded green eyes. “What made you come?”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder. Marty wasn’t buying it.

“Well?” she pressed.

“If it wasn’t for a box or two when I was a kid, there wouldn’t have been a Thanksgiving for the Winchesters.”

Marty bit her lower lip. “Oh, Dean.”

Dean grabbed Marty’s chin. “Nope. Don’t.”

“I would never,” Marty whispered.

Marty leaned into Dean’s arms and rested her head on his shoulder, her mouth grazing his neck. Dean pulled her close, Marty let herself slip into the comfort of his embrace.

“I would never,” she assured him again, but she wasn’t exactly sure what she would never do.


	27. Chapter 27

Dean’s alarm went off at 5am Thanksgiving morning. Groaning, he rolled over and slammed a hand down on the clock. Through his sleep-fogged brain, Dean tried to remember why he was getting up so early. Suddenly, his eyes popped open.

_Turkey._

Oh, god. How Dean loved Thanksgiving. All the food of Christmas and fun of Halloween without the a) stress of presents and b) humiliation of costumes (okay, costumes weren’t _so_ bad). Throwing the blankets off, Dean hustled into some clothes and downstairs to start prepping the bird.

In the kitchen, Dean started his first pot of coffee, turned on Pandora, and turned to the fridge. Inside the fridge was the Winchester Family Turkey, weighing in at a whopping 20 pounds (of which he would eat about 10, Sam would eat about 10, and Mary would get one or two slivers of breast meat).

“Okay, baby. Come to daddy,” Dean said, pulling the bird out and placing it on the counter.

Staring at it contemplatively, Dean wondered if he should go “old school” with the recipe or “fancy” it up with herbs and fruit and things like he saw on Food Network. Sam would want an old school bird with buttery, crispy skin laden with stuffing. Mary would appreciate the herbs and fruit and whatever.

Grabbing carrots, onions, celery, and green apples out of the crisper, Dean got to chopping. Already prepped in the fridge were casserole dishes of stuffing and mashed potatoes waiting to be cooked. Sam got pissed when he found out there wouldn’t be a classic green bean casserole (complete with fried onion straws on top) for their vegetable but Sam was the only Winchester who actually liked green bean casserole with fried onion straws on top, so Dean was shelving it for fresh green beans sauteed with garlic and almond slivers in olive oil.

“Hey, angel,” Mary’s voice greeted him.

“Hey, Mom.” Dean leaned over so Mary could kiss his cheek, but didn’t stop slicing the apples. “What are you doing up? I told you I got this.”

“I can’t let you cook everything on your own,” Mary insisted. “I’m home this year. What can I do?”

“Get me another cup of coffee and keep me company?” Dean suggested.

“I meant what can I do that’s pertinent to making dinner,” Mary replied.

“Coffee is pertinent to making dinner,” Dean told her. “Or else we’re going to be in the ER getting my fingers sewn back on because lack of coffee made me blind.”

Mary chuckled and obliged her son with a fresh cup of coffee. Sitting down at the counter, she sipped her own cup and watched as Dean moved easily around the kitchen.

“Where did you learn all this?” she asked.

Dean shrugged. “Food Network, mostly. And watching you when you were actually home to cook.”

Mary’s stomach flipped guiltily at how few dinners she was actually home to cook her boys when they were younger. “I’m sorry about that, angel.”

“Oh, Jesus, Ma. Stop it,” Dean said gruffly as he tied the veggies, apples, and fresh herbs up in a cheesecloth and stuffed it up into the turkey. “You did what you had to do and so did I.”

“But you were a kid, Dean. You should have had time to be a kid,” Mary said.

“Mom, you’re killing my high,” Dean told her jokingly.

Dean pulled the skin of the turkey loose so he could slide whole sprigs of rosemary between the skin and meat while Mary marvelled at her son’s cooking ability. Dean finished prepping by brushing the skin with melted butter, tenting the bird with foil, and putting it into the oven.

“Five hours from now, we should be eating,” Dean smiled at Mary.

“You’re so impressive,” Mary told him, getting up. “Let me make breakfast.”

“That sounds great.” Dean patted his belly appreciatively and took Mary’s vacated stool at the counter.

With Mary at the stove making omelettes, Dean leaned back in his chair. There was something so peaceful about being up at dawn, drinking coffee, waiting for the sun to come up. Sam didn’t know what he was missing.

“Here, angel.” Mary slid a plate in front of him. Pausing for a second before turning back to make herself breakfast, Mary smiled broadly. “I’m so proud of you, angel. You’re a good man.”

“You made me a good man,” Dean told her.

Mary’s smile faltered for a minute. Dean was looking at her so openly, so honestly. She wanted so badly to tell him the truth. The truth about the move. The truth about what had happened in Chicago. But … but she just couldn’t.

“Thank you, Dean,” Mary said simply.

Two hours later, Mary was reading on the sofa while Dean texted with Marty. The whole house smelled of roasting turkey, making Dean’s stomach growl almost constantly.

_can’t wait to see you later_

_me too, ginger. your family ready to meet us?_

_mom told my aunt and uncle about you_

_does that mean yes?_

_lol yes_

_what about your grandma?_

_what_

_did you tell grandma about me?_

_what_

_ginger_

_what_

_you guys didn’t tell her about us?_

_we told her friends were coming for dessert_

_friends?_

_yeah, it was easier than saying boyfriend_

_ging, you’re gonna be 18 soon! you gotta grow up sometime_

_yeah, i know. baby steps._

_try big kid steps. we’re gonna be there for 2nd dessert._

_lol you’re such a hobbit_

Dean rolled his eyes at his girlfriend’s new sense of humor.

_i shoulda never lent you that book_

_why? did i remind you about 2nd breakfast?_

Sam shuffled into the kitchen and looked around, bleary-eyed, from behind a cascade of brown hair.

“When’s turkey?” he asked groggily.

Mary and Dean looked at him, then each other, and laughed.

_gotta go, ginger. gotta feed sammy._

_kay. i have to go make myself presentable_

_send me a shower pic_

_shut up, dean!_

“C’mon, Sleeping Beauty,” Dean offered. “I’ll make you an omelette.”

Mary, after ignoring her sons’ ribbing, turned on the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade. Sam gravitated over to the couch, drawn into the spectacle like a little kid. Dean looked up from trimming green beans and zesting lemon peel to comment.

“Too bad we can’t watch the Chicago Thanksgiving parade,” he said.

Mary shot Dean a look. “Just zest your lemons, Emeril.”

“How’s my turkey coming, Bobby Flay?” Sam asked.

“Oh, you got jokes, Sammy?” Dean shot back. “I don’t see you in here, making anything.”

“I’ll open the can of cranberry sauce,” Sam offered.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Great. You’re a regular gourmet.”

“Gourmet what?” Sam asked.

Dean glared over the counter at his brother, who blithely ignored him. Once Dean was comfortable with the way the turkey looked, he headed upstairs to shower. The foreboding idea of having to go to Ruby’s house for dessert crawled into his brain. Not that he didn’t like Ruby (he did), but the idea of having to sit through dessert with a pastor and his wife and their family didn’t exactly rank high on his List of Things He Wanted to Experience. In fact, it ranked somewhere between dropping a bowling ball on his foot and a root canal without Novacaine.

The Winchester’s Thanksgiving dinner was done by noon. Mary had insisted that the boys dress presentable for dinner, so Sam and Dean showed up at the table in button down shirts and clean jeans. Sam had even tried to brush his shaggy bangs off his forehead.

“You both look so handsome.” Mary smiled at his sons. “And, Dean, everything looks delicious.”

“What about the cranberry sauce?” Sam joked, pointing at the dish of cranberry sauce that still held its can shape.

“It’s lovely, Sam,” Mary replied.

Sam buffed his nails on his shirt. “Like Dean said, I’m a gourmet.”

“You’re an idiot,” Dean groused. “Now stop hogging the turkey.”

Sam passed the platter to his brother and the Winchesters settled into serving and eating. Mary couldn’t stop smiling. Everything seemed to make her happy. Dean couldn’t remember ever seeing her this cheerful.

“Jesus, Sammy, slow down,” Dean said. “No one’s gonna take it from you.”

“You’re gonna make someone a great wife someday,” Sam told his brother.

Dean’s hackles went up at the jibe. Sam was only kidding, of course, there was nothing malicious behind his joke (it was Sammy, he couldn’t be malicious if he tried), but still … it stung somehow.

Mary noticed Dean’s minute change in attitude before it slipped away, but didn’t comment on it.

The eating slowed down, then stopped. The three of them leaned back in their seats, sighing happily.

“Dean, that was magnificent,” Mary said. “I can’t believe anyone related to me can be that good of a cook.”

“Yeah, Dean. It was awesome,” Sam agreed.

Dean ducked his head and stood to clear the table. Mary got to her feet immediately, laying a hand on his arm.

“No,” she said. “Let Sam and me do it.”

Flushed with embarrassment and more than a little pride, Dean watched as his mom and brother cleared away his magnificent dinner. Mary and Sam bumped into each other over and over as they packed away the leftovers.

“Do you have a recipe for turkey soup?” Sam asked Dean.

“No, but I saw this thing on TV for Thanksgiving dinner waffles,” Dean replied.

Sam opened his mouth to ask, but Mary stopped him. “Let’s just be surprised, Sam.”

Packed into Mary’s vanilla-scented sedan, Sam and Dean felt over-sized and oafish.

“Has your car always been this small, Mom?” Sam asked from the back seat where his knees were touching his chest.

“Yes,” Mary replied. “You’re just too tall for your own good.”

“Gee, thanks, Mom,” Sam grumbled.

The drive to Ruby’s didn’t take nearly as long as Dean had hoped. Waiting on the front walk was Ruby, her coat falling off her shoulders and wearing a skirt that even Dean thought might be a little too short and high-heeled boots that might be a little too high for a family holiday. She waved wildly and cheerfully called out, “Hey, Winchesters!”

Mary parked her car, turned to her sons, and smiled.

“Well,” she said mock-solemnly at Dean, who looked resigned, and Sam, who looked worried. “Here we go.”


	28. Chapter 28

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the length. It seems there was a lot of plot that needed to get out.  
> Also:  
> Lieblinge = darling  
> Mein Gott = My god  
> dummkopf = blockhead  
> schone Augen = pretty eyes

Ruby ran to Sam’s door to greet him.

“Hi, sweetie!” she said, giving him a rather chaste kiss on the cheek. Dean assumed it had to do with their mother being present. “Mrs. Winchester, I’m so glad you’re here. I can’t wait for my family to meet you all.”

Smiling, Mary gave Ruby a one-armed squeeze, not giving the fact she knew this brunette temptress and her sweet son were having sex.

“We’re so happy to be here too, Ruby,” she said honestly.

Holding Mary by the elbow, Ruby gave the older woman a tug. “C’mon. Everyone wants to meet you.”

“I bet,” Dean muttered.

Sam shot Dean a patented Sam Winchester bitchface as they headed into the Schneider house. Ruby stripped them of their coats and happily escorted them into the living room, where a huge group of people were milling about, drinking coffee, and talking loudly.

Linny Schneider rushed over. “Are you Mary Winchester?” she asked with no preamble. Dean couldn’t believe how much mother and daughter resembled each other. They could be sisters. When Mary nodded and held out her hand, Linny Schneider laughed and pulled her in for a tight hug. “I’m so pleased to meet you,” Linny Schneider said, when she released Mary. “Ruby has been talking about the Winchesters like you were mythical creatures for days. I’m so sorry we haven’t met before this.” Linny Schneider then turned to Sam and Dean. “Donald told me how much help you two were at the food drive.” Linny Schneider’s smile was blinding, but sincere. “Thank you so much!”

The effusive friendliness Linny was exuding made the Winchesters feel so welcome, Mary visibly relaxed and allowed herself to be led around the room, meeting every relative under the roof. By the time everyone had met the Winchesters and they had been offered coffee and pie, Mary and her boys felt right at home.

“This pie,” Dean said, between huge bites, “is so good.”

A random Schneider aunt beamed at the handsome boy. “Thank you, Sam.”

Dean swallowed. “Actually, I’m Dean.”

The aunt chuckled. “Sorry, about that.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” Dean replied. “This pie makes up for it.”

“Chocolate pie is my specialty,” the aunt told him.

Dean eyed the dessert table. There were three more pies over there. One was unmistakably apple, one was pecan, and the other was a mystery.

“What’s that one?” he asked.

“Oh, that’s Ginny’s buttermilk pie,” the aunt ( _georgie, dean’s brain volunteered_ ) told him.

“I’ve never had that.” Dean couldn’t keep the wonder out of his voice.

“Would you like a slice, darlin’?” a chubby woman, obviously Aunt Ginny, swooped down on him with a piece. “Give this a try.”

Dean shoveled the last bite of chocolate pie into his mouth, took a swig of coffee, and took the plate Aunt Ginny offered.

“Oh, my god,” Dean said though a mouthful of buttermilk pie. “Where has this been all my life?”

Aunt Ginny laughed like a foghorn blast. “Here in Kentucky, darlin’.”

Dean grinned. “Good to know Kentucky is where all the good things are hiding.”

Aunts Ginny and Georgie smiled at Dean.

“Sounds like a lot of good things in Kentucky have come out of hiding for you boys,” Aunt Georgie said.

Dean’s shoulders stiffened. “What?”

“You and your brother found some nice Kentucky girls to date,” Aunt Georgie went on. Her face was completely open. There was no underlying menace in her attitude. Dean relaxed a little. “We’ve known Mary Martha ever since Linny and Ruby married Donnie. We just love her.”

Aunt Ginny was nodding in agreement. “Mary Martha is a sweet girl. You’d have to be a monster to not get along with her.”

Dean nodded. “She’s an amazing person,” he agreed in a fit of unrestrained honesty.

“Ruby showed us all the snapshots from Halloween.” Aunt Georgie joined Dean at the table. “You four looked great.”

Dean smiled, a crooked little grin that sent the two older women into giggles. “Actually, Sam and Ruby came up with the idea.”

“Well, it was just great,” Aunt Ginny said.

“Just great,” Aunt Georgie agreed.

“You’re very handsome,” Aunt Ginny added.

“Virginia!” Aunt Georgie scolded.

“Oh, hush, Georgina,” Aunt Ginny said as Dean felt heat rise up his throat to his face. “Men like Dean know they’re attractive. Don’t you, Dean?”

Dean knew he was being flirted with and, six months ago, that wouldn’t have been a problem. But now, a little flirting from some elder aunts turned him into a red-faced, tongue-tied goofball.

“Now look at the poor boy,” Aunt Georgie said accusingly. “You’ve made him blush.”

Aunt Ginny was immediately sorry and said so. Dean assured her that it was okay, finished his pie and coffee, and excused himself from the table. He found Mary chatting with a few of Ruby’s cousins about Chicago, all of whom seemed spell-bound by the idea of a big city.

“Hey, Ma,” he said quietly. “We have to get going soon if we want to get to Marty’s.”

Mary nodded, finished up her conversation, and looked around for Sam. He was easy to find: he was the one on the couch, surrounded by female cousins and Ruby, holding court like a king.

“Look at your brother,” Mary pointed. “Think he’s enjoying himself?”

“He’d be an idiot not to be,” Dean replied.

“Let’s find Linny and Don and say our good byes,” Mary decided. She caught Sam’s eye and tapped her watch. Sam extracted himself from the gaggle of females and made his way across the room with Ruby holding his hand. “Ruby, we need to head over to Marty’s parents’ house. Could we say good bye now?”

“Sure, let me get Mama and Daddy.” Ruby strode off on her high heels to find her parents. Sam watched her approvingly, and was rewarded with a slap upside the back of the head from Dean.

Bidding Linny and Don Schneider goodbye took another 20 minutes, with promises to return for dinner and invitations to church. Mary breathed a relieved sigh when they finally got into the car.

“Now,” she said, “we’re off to the Webers’.”

All three Winchesters unconsciously steeled themselves at the statement.

There was no happy Marty waiting and waving in the driveway when they got to the Webers’. Dean knocked on the door, then stepped back to let Mary take the front with Sam and himself flanking her.

“Relax, boys,” Mary told her sons. “It’s a family visit, not a military procedure.”

“Better to be prepared,” Sam commented as footsteps approached the door.

“Like Normandy,” Dean agreed.

Mary rolled her eyes as the door opened. “Dean,” she sighed.

Marty was on the other side of the door, red hair spilling over the shoulders of her black sweater. Her face lit up when she saw who it was.

“Ruby texted to let me know you were on your way,” she said as she let them in. “Here. Give me your coats. Hello, Sam.” A light kiss on Sam’s cheek, then Dean’s before Marty turned to Mary. “I’m really excited for you and my mom to join forces.”

Mary chuckled. “You make it sound like a scheme.”

Marty pursed her lips and rolled her eyes upward, looking innocent. “What? No.”

Mary glanced over at Dean, who was trying to hide a grin. “She’s starting to sound more like you every day. Poor lamb.”

Dean took Marty by the arm as the four of them moved into the living room. The scene was rather like the scene at Ruby’s, with family milling about, holding plates and cups, and talking jovially. Deborah Weber saw them come in and crossed the room with her hands out. She and Mary greeted each other like old friends, clasping hands and exchanging air kisses.

“I’m so glad you could make it, Mary,” Deborah said. “Come and meet everyone.”

And with that, Mary linked arms with Deborah and they disappeared into the crowd of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Sam, Dean, and Marty exchanged bewildered looks.

“I didn’t see that coming,” Dean said.

“That was weird,” Sam agreed.

“Very,” Marty chimed in.

Dean was suddenly very aware that the room was staring at them. Marty’s relatives were too polite to stare outright, but there was definite interest in the newly arrived boys.

“Dessert?” Marty asked. “You’ll stand out less if you have food.”

Dean’s full stomach rumbled. “I could eat some dessert.”

“After all the pie you had at Ruby’s?” Sam asked.

“When have I ever turned down pie?” Dean replied as they forged their way into the kitchen with Marty leading the pack.

Sam considered the question. “Never.”

Dean scanned the room for Marty’s granny, but she seemed to be missing from the company, so he turned his attention back to the petite girl in front of his. Her narrow black sweater was cut small and rested on her hips, under which a green plaid skirt flared. Black stockings ( _jesus, fucking thigh-highs, dean realized suddenly_ ) and black heels with a sassy little strap completed the outfit. Dean swallowed hard. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate with her wearing _that_.

“Here.” Marty handed Dean and Sam coffee. Dean noticed that his was black and Sam’s had cream, just the way they both liked it. “What kind of pie?”

“Do you have buttermilk pie?” Dean asked immediately.

Marty arched one eyebrow. “How do you know about buttermilk pie?”

“I had it at Ruby’s. Awesome stuff.”

Sam helped himself to more sugar for his coffee and wandered into the living room to watch the family interactions and see how Mary was getting along. Mary was getting along just fine, getting chatted up by a woman who looked exactly like Deborah except slightly older and a man who--in Sam’s protective opinion--looked a little too interested.

“Dean,” Sam said, without taking his eyes off Mary. Dean didn’t reply, so Sam turned to find out what was more important than some dude flirting with their mom. Dean was talking intently with Marty, who was leaning against the kitchen counter in a flirty manner. Dean obviously couldn’t take his eyes off her stockings/plaid skirt combo. Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean!” he hissed.

“What?” Dean dragged his eyes from the hem of Marty’s skirt to his brother. “Crap, _what_?”

“Look.” Sam jerked his chin in Mary’s direction and Dean was suddenly at full alert when he saw what was going on.

“Marty, who’s that guy?” Dean asked.

Marty glanced over. “Oh, that’s my Uncle Danny. He’s Mama’s brother in law. That’s his wife there--Aunt Kate, Mama’s older sister.”

“He seems really interested in my mom,” Sam said, coming over to the two of them.

Marty looked again, furrowing her brows. “I guess. But I wouldn’t worry about it. Uncle Danny’s a gentleman. He’s probably just being super polite.”

Dean snorted as he shoveled the last bite of pie into his mouth. He’d eaten it so fast, he barely tasted it. “He looks like he’s being _overly_ -polite.”

Marty laughed. “You two are ridiculous. He’s happily married and my aunt is _right there_.”

“Speaking of happily married, where’s your dad?” Dean asked.

Marty shrugged. “In his den with some of my other uncles and cousins. Probably talking about how the world’s gone to shit now that states are allowing gays to get married. The morons.”

Dean and Sam stared at Marty when she was done talking. She looked up at them, bemused.

“What?” she asked.

“Did you just curse?” Sam asked at the same time Dean asked, “Did you just defend gay marriage?”

“Um. Yes,” Marty replied.

Dean hugged her. “God, I’m freaking proud of you.”

Marty hugged back, giggling. “Now, who’s the moron?” She leaned back and looked up at Dean. “You’re a terrible influence on me, Dean Winchester.”

“Glad to be,” he shot back.

“C’mon.” Marty took both their hands. “The good thing about Daddy being in his den is that he took all the crappy family members with him. Come meet some of my less awful ones.”

30 minutes later, Dean and Sam had met enough Webers and Albrechts (Deborah’s family) to set their heads spinning. The only person Dean hadn’t met was Granny Albrecht, Marty’s grandmother. Dean had this whole picture of a wizened, stooped lady with thin, yellow-white hair, cloudy eyes, and mismatched nylon clothes.

He couldn’t have been more wrong.

The front door opened and a tall, rubenesque woman with a fluffy mane of white hair and the most piercing blue eyes Dean had ever seen came striding into the room. She was greeted by everyone enthusiastically, including Marty, who pulled her hand free of Dean’s to camper across the room into the woman’s arms.

“Granny!” she cried out.

“Granny?” Dean asked.

“ _That’s_ Granny?” Sam said. “I was expecting someone--”

“Ancient.”

Granny Albrecht greeted each person in turn like a queen blessing her subjects. Even the Webers seemed thrilled to see her. She moved around the room from group to group with Marty and her cousins at her heels like little kids, each competing for her undivided attention. Dean felt himself walking backwards into the kitchen to get out of the line of fire.

“Where’s this boyfriend of yours, Mary Martha?” Granny Albrecht’s strong voice reached Dean’s ears.

“Whoa there, big fella,” Sam said, grabbing Dean’s arm before his older brother could bolt.

“Dean!” Marty called across the room as every head turned toward the Winchester boys at the same time. Marty waved him over. “Come here!”

Dean was frozen to the floor, green eyes wide. Sam put his hand in the small of Dean’s back and shoved.

“Move, loser,” he ordered.

Dean’s feet propelled him across the room to Marty’s side. Every lady killer instinct he had disappeared as the eyes of Granny Albrecht sized him up like a prize Thoroughbred. She looked back and forth between Dean and Marty, then motioned with her hand.

“Come with me, _Lieblinge,_ " she said.

Following Granny Albrecht to the front sitting room (the “fancy room” no one used), Marty tugged Dean’s arm excitedly and smiled at him. Dean, desperate to get his thumping heart under control, smiled back.

“You okay?” Marty whispered.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dean asked.

“Because you look like you’re gonna puke,” Marty replied.

Granny Albrecht chose a wingback chair in the corner of the room, forcing Dean and Marty to stand in front of her. Amused, Dean dragged a wide ottoman over for Marty to sit on. Surprise flitted across Granny Albrecht’s features at his gesture.

“So, Mary Martha tells me you’re from Chicago, Dean,” Granny Albrecht began.

“I am,” Dean agreed.

“Lovely city, Chicago,” Granny Albrecht continued, nodding at Dean’s comment. “My husband and I were there years ago when we first married, before all the girls came along.”

“You were, Granny?” Marty asked. “I didn’t know that.”

“Oh, there’s a whole lot you don’t know about your granny, miss,” Granny Albrecht said, not unkindly. “Do you care for my granddaughter?”

“Yes, ma’am” Dean said.

“Do you respect her?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Do you believe in Jesus?”

“No, ma’am, I don’t,” Dean replied without hesitating.

“I respect your honesty, boy,” Granny Albrecht told him. “Mary Martha, give me a few minutes with your gentleman.”

Marty paused before getting up, squeezing Dean’s arm before she left the room. She cast one more worried look over she shoulder before disappearing from the doorway.

“Marty looks worried,” Dean commented easily.

“Sit down, boy. You’re making my neck hurt,” Granny Albrecht ordered. Dean sat down on the ottoman Marty had vacated. Sitting put them eye to eye and Dean realized how tall Granny Albrecht actually was. “So. Here you come into town in your big black car with your rock and roll and you just sweep my granddaughter off her feet?”

Dean swallowed. “It didn’t go exactly like that.”

“Then how did it _exactly_ go, boy?” Granny Albrecht asked.

Dean glanced over his shoulder to make sure they were alone. When he looked back at Granny Albrecht, he steeled her with a steady gaze.

“She swept me off my feet,” he told the old woman seriously.

“Did she now?” Granny Albrecht seemed pleased. “Well, that’s the Hasenkamp in her. I was a Hasenkamp before I married her grandfather. Did Marty tell you about her grandfather, boy?” Dean nodded, so the lady went on. “He was a great man, my Ernest. Smart, strong, funny. And did he love his family and his Lord. He was beautiful too, his green eyes and freckles and a strong back made for hard work. He carried his whole family on his shoulders, did you know that? He worked every day he could, but played every day he could too. He knew how to balance the two. And he knew how to love a woman.” Dean cleared his throat, embarrassed, and Granny Albrecht held up her hand. “Now, stop that, boy. I don’t just mean in the bedroom. I mean in life too. He showed love in a generous way. There wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do for me. Sound like someone you know?”

Dean pressed his lips together, then nodded. Granny Albrecht nodded too.

“I thought so,” she continued. “Marty only knew her Pop-Pop as an old man. She never knew the strong young man who used to make me and his girls laugh so hard, we’d cry. But when Deborah called me to worry at me about you, and she described you to me, I just said, ‘Deborah, who does that remind you of?’ Deborah knew right away that you were the right boy for our Mary Martha because someone like you had been the right man for her mother.”

“So … Mrs. W. likes me because I remind her of … her dad?” Saying it out loud made it sound creepy.

Granny Albrecht rolled her blue eyes at the ceiling. “ _Mein Gott_ , this boy! No, _dummkopf_ ,” she corrected affectionately. “She likes you because she recognizes in you all the good qualities a good man should have. Like her father had, not like her _actual_ father.”

Dean relaxed. “Okay. That’s better. More 'Hey, that's awesome' and less 'I need to take a _Silkwood_ shower when I get home.'”

Dean’s eyes widened to horror when he realized what he said, but Granny Albrecht burst into laughter at his face. Leaning forward, she grabbed his chin between her thumb and forefinger and waggled his head back and forth.

“I like you, _schone Augen,_ ” Granny Albrecht said. "And I think you’re just what these Webers need, Dean Winchester."


	29. Chapter 29

“Mama? What are you and Daddy getting me for my birthday?” Marty asked as she loaded the dishwasher a week before her birthday.

Deborah glanced Marty’s way as she packed up the leftovers. “I’m not sure. It’s a big birthday. 18 years old.”

“Has it been that long?” James asked, coming into the room.

Marty and Deborah exchanged a surprised look. It had been weeks since James had contributed to a conversation without being prompted to the point of exhaustion by the women in his house. It had gotten to the point that Deborah and Marty had given up trying to speak to him altogether and just existed around him, leaving him and his silent treatment in peace.

“What were you thinking, Daddy?” Marty asked carefully.

“I got your mother a beautiful Bible for her 18th birthday,” James said. “We could do the same for you.”

_A Bible? Really?_ Marty could barely hold back her annoyance as she answered, “I have three Bibles, Daddy.”

“Do you have three?” James said, sounding startled.

“Yes. One when I was born. One when I was baptised. One when I was 13.” Marty ticked off the Bibles on her fingers. “Plus, that doesn’t include books about the Bible, study materials about the Bible, an illustrated childrens’ Bible, and so many others.”

“So … no Bible then?” Deborah asked, keeping her voice even but Marty could see the laughter in her eyes.

“I would really like a car,” Marty said. Her parents exchanged a glance. “What? I’m going to be 18. I’ve had my license for a year. I’m getting tired of having Ruby drive me around.”

James eyes darkened. “And that Dean?”

“He’s called Dean, Daddy. Not ‘that Dean.’ And, yes, Dean too.”

“You’re not ready for a car,” James snapped, his pleasant mood gone.

“When will I be ready?” Marty asked sharply. “When I’m 19? 20? When I graduate college? When I get my first nursing job? Or how about when I get married to the man you’ll pick out for me in the church you’ll pick out for me in the dress you’ll pick out for me? Does that sound about right, Daddy?”

Marty’s voice had rose about five hysterical octaves during her speech and she had started to cross the kitchen to her father before Deborah caught her arm. James remained impassive during Marty’s rant, not giving or taking an inch.

“I do not appreciate your tone, Mary Martha,” he said.

“I don’t appreciate yours!” Marty shouted back, losing her cool completely. “And it’s Marty! I’m Marty! You’re the only one who refuses to call me Marty!”

“Because I’m the only one who hasn’t forgotten who you were before that Dean turned your head.” James set his glass on the counter. He added “Mary Martha” pointedly before he left the room.

Marty stared at the empty doorway, fists clenched, face red, breath heaving. Deborah moved in closer and drew the rigid form of her daughter into her arms.

“No! I don’t want a damn hug!” Marty exclaimed, thrashing against the embrace.

Deborah hung on as Marty fought the warmth of her mother’s arms. Marty finally broke down and began to shudder. But no tears came. This wasn’t worth tears. Not even close.

Marty shuffled through school the next day. Not even Dean fighting with their AP English teacher about Hemingway’s _Old Man and the Sea_ could break through the black funk that surrounded her.

“What’s wrong, Ginger?” Dean finally asked as she trudged next to him. A few classmates greeted them as they made their way down the hallway. Dean wore popularity well. Marty was still growing accustomed to it, shrinking from jovially hellos from near strangers.

“Nothin’,” Marty muttered.

“You’re still a terrible liar,” Dean told her. He lifted her face to his, looking down at her as they walked. “What happened?”

“My--dad …” Marty began.

“What did he do?” Dean immediately sounded concerned and ready to fight.

“God, nothing. Nothing!” Marty insisted. “He just was such an ass last night.”

“Yeah? How?” Dean’s voice was rough. Marty knew that was his ‘worried’ voice.

“Dean, stop it,” Marty told him wearily. “He just offered to buy me a Bible for my birthday instead of a car and I sorta … I sorta freaked out on him.”

“Do you need another Bible?” Dean asked, furrowing his brow. “Don’t you have four of them?”

“Three actually, but you know me--good Christian girl--you can never have too many books that tell you your whole life is a giant sin.”

Dean choked back laughter. Marty smiled, sighing.

“Did you really ask Deb and Jim for a car?” Dean asked next.

They’d reached Marty’s classroom. Dean was supposed to be headed to shop on the other side of the school, but there was no way his shop teacher was going to mark his prize student (and unpaid teacher’s assistant) tardy, so he had time to talk before the bell rang.

Marty shrugged. “Why shouldn’t I? I’ve had my license a year and I’m going to be 18.”

“Can you take a car to UK?” Dean asked.

“No,” Marty admitted. “But it would be nice to be the driver next time we go out. Unless …” Marty’s eyes sparkled mischievously, “you let me drive your car?”

“No way,” Dean replied promptly as the bell rang. “No one drives my baby but me.”

“Miss Weber, feel like joining us today?” Marty’s teacher asked as he started to shut the door.

Marty rolled her eyes, Dean kissed her quickly, and sauntered off down the empty hallway. Marty took a minute to admire him before heading into class.

“Wait. You really asked them for a car?” Ruby slammed the pizza oven shut. “What the hell did they say?”

“What do you think they said?” Marty replied as she swirled sauce on pizza dough. “They said no.”

Ruby let out a short laugh. “There’s the James I know. Stoic and unbending in every way.”

“And then I flipped out.”

“You did not!” Ruby gasped in delight.

“I didn’t even realize I did it,” Marty admitted, throwing cheese around like it was confetti.

Ruby leaned on the counter next to her. “Tell me _everything_.”

Marty recanted the ranty speech she’d shouted at James. Ruby looked thrilled the entire time. When Marty was done with her story, Ruby clapped with glee.

“Oh, my god!” she crowed. “I am _so happy_ for you! You stood up to him. You really did!”

“Ruby, I defied my father.” Marty was still a little horrified at her behavior.

“Yes! Finally!” Ruby threw her arms around Marty’s neck and kissed her soundly on the cheek.

“Can I order?” a voice asked from the register.

Marty pushed Ruby away. “Go work or something.”

Ruby practically danced over to the customer, who seemed perplexed.

“See that girl?” Ruby jerked a thumb over at Marty. The customer looked, then nodded. “She’s a bad-ass.”  
“Shut up, Ruby!” Marty blushed and ducked her head.

The customer looked unconvinced, so Ruby jabbed a finger at him. “I’m serious. Serious bad-assery.”

Marty rolled her eyes and shoved her pizza into an oven. “I have to quit.”

Ruby burst into giggles so hysterical, she excused herself from the cash register, forcing Marty to take her place.

A few minutes later, after Ruby had calmed down, she joined Marty at the counter. Leaning on their elbows next to each other, looking out over the empty restaurant, the girls snuggled closer and sighed.

“Could you imagine that just 5 short months ago, I was a virgin and you didn’t have a backbone?” Ruby asked. Marty gagged on an ice cube but Ruby went on, “I wouldn’t have believed it if you told me. I especially wouldn’t believe that you could’ve bagged a dude like Dean.”

“Gee, thanks,” Marty said.

“C’mon, Marts,” Ruby chided her gently. “For your first boyfriend, you kinda hit it out of the park with that one.”

“What about you?” Marty returned. “Sam isn’t exactly chop suey.”

Ruby’s lips curled into a self-satisfied smirk. “Have I ever told you about what Sam can do?”

Marty went bright red. “I don’t know if I want to know.”

“Oh, yeah. You have to.” Ruby leaned over and began to whisper in Marty’s ear, which set Marty’s face even redder.

“Where did he learn that?” Marty gasped when Ruby was done. “You said he was a virgin!”

“He was!” Ruby insisted. “He swears he learned it from Dean.”

“What?” Marty gasped.

“I know, right?” Ruby agreed. “If that’s true, Dean should teach a class.”

“But, wait.” Marty shook her head. “How did Dean teach him? Like, they sat down and talked about it?”

“I guess so,” Ruby said. “Their dad hasn’t been around since they were really little, so I guess when it was time to have ‘the big talk’” (Ruby emphasized with air quotes) “Sam went to Dean for advice.”

“And Dean told him everything?”

“And then some.” Ruby winked. “Just wait until it’s your turn, Marty. You’re not gonna know what hit you.”

“I’m afraid,” Marty admitted.

“Afraid of what?” Ruby asked. “Of it hurting? If Dean’s anything like Sam, it’s gonna hurt. But every first time hurts a little, I guess.”

“Did it hurt?” Marty asked in a small voice.

“Like you wouldn’t believe,” Ruby replied honestly. “I wasn’t ready and it was the backseat of Dean’s car, so we weren’t comfortable. I don’t regret doing it, but I regret doing it _there_.”

“So … um … should I then? Soon?” Marty could barely get the question out.

Ruby laid a hand on Marty’s arm. “Do it when you’re ready. Not before. Dean can wait. He can wait forever for all I care.”

“Dean will wait forever,” Marty said, sounding like a child. “He told me he would.”

“But you do … other stuff, right?” Ruby asked.

Marty giggled, her cheeks going red. “Yeah.”  
“Like what?” Ruby had to know.

“Like, ya know, oral stuff.” Marty could barely get the answer out.

“Shit, you do that? You to him or him to you?” Ruby asked.

“Both.”

Ruby squealed loudly and shook Marty’s arm. “You never told me! When did this start?”

“Before school started.” Marty ducked her head, then looked up at Ruby through a curtain of red hair.

“Before-- _before_ school started? And you’re just telling me _now_?!” Ruby was beside herself.

“It slipped my mind.” Marty poked Ruby in the side. “You kinda stole my thunder with the whole virginity thing.”

“You think Mrs. Winchester knows?” Ruby asked suddenly.

“I think she’d be an idiot if she didn’t know,” Marty replied.

“I don’t want her to hate me,” Ruby said, sounding worried.

“Are you still allowed over?” Marty asked. “Does she make mean comments to you? Did she make Sam break up with you? Is he treating you like some big secret?” Ruby shook her head. Marty slapped her arm. “Then shut up, stupid.”

Ruby scanned the empty dining room. “Let’s close up.”

“It’s not time yet,” Marty protested.

Ruby waved a hand at the barren tables. “Really? Because we’re so busy?”

“We just made pies,” Marty wavered, but she knew she would give in.

“Looks like we’ll be bringing them home then,” Ruby laughed.

Clean up, counting the register, and boxing up the leftovers took less time than expected. When Dean and Sam knocked on the door to be let in, Ruby and Marty had been waiting about 20 minutes.

“Pizza?” Marty asked, handing Dean the box. She stood on tiptoes for a kiss. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replied. “You smell like garlic.”

“I work at a pizza parlor,” Marty laughed.

“You smell delicious.” Dean arched one eyebrow. He slipped his free arm around her waist and pulled her close to him. Holding the pizza box out of the way, he kissed her deeply, his tongue flicking around hers playfully. Marty could feel her eyes roll back in her head as they closed. Breaking their kiss, Dean whispered against her lips, “I bet you taste delicious too.”

Oh, yeah. The probability of making a man like Dean Winchester wait for anything was getting smaller and smaller.


	30. Chapter 30

“Happy birthday, sweetie.”

Marty peeled one eye open. Deborah was standing over her bed with a little coffee cake with a candle in it.

“Morning, Mama,” Marty croaked.

“Morning.” Deborah held out the plate as Marty hoisted herself to a sitting position. “Make a wish?”

Marty closed her eyes and puffed the candle out. Opening them again, she saw Deborah smiling at her, little tears glistening in her eyes.

“Happy birthday,” Deborah said again, her voice shaky.

“Thanks, Mama.” Marty swallowed hard. She didn’t want to start crying this early in the morning.

“Come downstairs for this when you’re ready for school.” Deborah kissed Marty on the head and left the room.

“Holy crap.” Marty swiped her arm over her eyes.

Dragging her feet, Marty got herself showered and dressed. The weather outside was cold, making Marty wish she could just stay home for her birthday like she used to when she was little. Besides, the idea of facing her father and his ongoing silent treatment wasn’t quite so appealing.

James and Deborah were both waiting in the kitchen when Marty entered. Deborah smiled at her proudly, coming across the room to hug her.

“I love you,” Deborah whispered hastily in her ear.

“I love--” Marty began.

“This is for you,” James held out a small box stiffly.

“Thank you, Daddy.” Marty took it from him.

James folded his hands formally in front of him. “Open it.”

Marty obliged, her fingers scrabbling clumsily at the tightly wrapped paper. Obviously professionally wrapped at whatever store James bought the gift at. Inside the small box was a gold watch with a diamond at the 12, 3, 6, and 9 positions on the face.

“It’s beautiful,” Marty breathed, meaning it. She immediately put it on and looked up at her parents. “Thank you so much.”

Deborah couldn’t stop smiling through her happy tears. “Do you want breakfast?”

Marty glanced at the clock over the sink. She had plenty of time before she had to meet Dean, Sam, and Ruby across the street.

“Sure,” she replied, grinning, and joined her parents at the table.

“Do you”--James cleared his throat--“have any plans tonight?”

Marty gulped down a mouthful of coffee. “Not that I know of.”

“Your mother and I would like to take you out to dinner.”

“You would?” Marty couldn’t help but sound shocked.

“Of course,” James answered. “It is your 18th birthday.”

Deborah was shooting meaningful looks across the table at James, but Marty saw her father ignore them. Marty’s heart contracted. Deborah obviously wanted James to ask Dean to dinner too, but Marty saw her father’s blatant refusal to look in her mother’s direction.

“I was thinking of taking you and your mother over to The Thatcher House,” James was saying.

“Seriously?” Marty asked as the same time Deborah was saying, “What?”

“It’s your 18th birthday, Mary Martha,” James said. “I want--your mother and I want to take you somewhere nice.”

“The Thatcher House is more than nice, Daddy.” Marty stood up, gathering her things.

“Leaving already?” Deborah asked.

“Yeah, I’m sure they’re all waiting for me.” Marty went around the table to give Deborah a one-armed hug and kiss. She turned to James. “Thank you for the watch, Daddy. It’s beautiful.”

“You’re very welcome,” James replied with some difficulty. He stood up to be embraced.

Marty paused. James had stopped being physically affectionate years before, but now here he was waiting for some kind of display. Marty leaned up and kissed his cheek.

“Thank you, Daddy,” she said again and left the house.

Indeed, Ruby, Dean, and Sam were waiting in the running Impala for her.

“Happy birthday!” Ruby crowed jubilantly, diving over the front seat to hug her. Planting a kiss on her mouth, Ruby tried to shove a card into her hand. “This is from me.”

“And me.” Sam handed her an awkwardly wrapped rectangle.

“Thanks, ya’ll!” Marty said delightedly.

Dean leaned over and kissed her. “Happy birthday, Ginger.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Marty blushed prettily as heat rushed through her veins.

“My present’s not done yet,” Dean told her as they roared down the street.

“That’s okay,” Marty assured him. Ruby had given her a $100 gift card to f.y.e. “Ruby! $100! How did you manage to save that?”

Ruby burst out laughing. “It was really difficult.”  
  
“Where’s the closest f.y.e.?” Marty asked.

“At the mall in Elizabethtown,” Ruby replied. “Figured we’d make a day of it.”

“That sounds like fun,” Marty agreed. “You boys wanna come?”

“To a mall? With girls?” Dean asked. “Rather be boiled in oil, Mama.”

“Shut up, Bubba,” Marty laughed. Sam’s gift was a new CD holder. “I’m noticing a pattern here.”

“Yeah, we’re upgrading your music selection whether you like it or not,” Dean told her. “Ruby’s come over to the dark side with rock and some dancey-dance shit. Now it’s your turn.”

“I like Joan Jett,” Marty said, shooting Dean a playful look.

Dean shifted in his seat, clearing his throat. “Yeah, I know.”

“So, what did Deb and Jim do for you?” Sam asked. The four of them had taken up Dean’s nicknames for her parents.

“So, get this,” Marty said. “They’re taking me to dinner tonight. To The Thatcher House.”

Ruby whistled. “Swanky.”

“Right?” Marty said. Out of the corner of her eye, Marty’s saw Dean’s face darken, then go back to normal. “What’s wrong?” she asked him.

“I was going to take you there tomorrow,” he told her.

“That’s okay,” Marty rushed to assuage Dean’s disappointment. “We can go somewhere else.”

“Selby’s is really nice,” Ruby said quickly. “My mom and dad go there all the time.”

“See?” Marty said desperately.

Dean looked at Marty oddly. “It’s okay, Ging. I’m not gonna fall apart because your parents are taking you to the place I wanted to go.”

Marty felt stupid, luckily they were pulling into the school parking lot. Months later and the sight of Dean’s black car thundering into the lot still turned heads. Heading into school, Marty laughed to herself as glances were surreptitiously flicked their way. Months later and the sight of the Winchester boys walking the halls still turned heads.

“You look really pretty, Marty,” Deborah said when Marty came downstairs.

“Thanks, Mama. You do too.” Marty turned to James. “Doesn’t she, Daddy?”

James looked trapped and very uncomfortable. “You both look very nice.”

Marty had considered wearing her Thanksgiving outfit, but (remembering Dean’s reaction to it), decided to hold off and wear that for her date with Dean. Dinner with parents required a less risque ensemble.

“Isn’t this nice?” Deborah asked after they were seated. She looked around and then back at her family. “Right?”

“Right, Mama.” Marty could see how hard Deborah was working to make the night special, but James’ silence was killing her efforts. “Isn’t it nice here, Daddy? You chose a great place.”

James glanced up briefly. “It’s nice,” he agreed shortly.

Deborah’s face fell. “Excuse me a minute.”

Once Deborah left the table, Marty turned to her father furiously. “You’re ruining this whole night,” she hissed at him. “Mama is trying so hard to make us friends again and you’re attitude is awful.”

James gave Marty a long, level glare that would have sent her flinching back into her seat a few months ago. This time Marty didn’t break his glare over their menus.

“Show some respect for your father,” James told her.

“Show some respect for your wife,” Marty spat back at him as Deborah approached the table.

Deborah sat down, gazing between her husband and daughter. “Are you both all right?”

Marty gave her mother a warm smile. “We’re wonderful.”

“We are, Deborah, really.” James laid a hand across Deborah’s and Marty grabbed her other one.

“I love you both,” Marty told her parents. And she honestly meant it.

Ruby appraised Marty as she dressed.

“When did you get such big boobs?” Ruby asked her best friend.

Marty was leaning into her dresser mirror, applying mascara with her mouth open (the mystery of open mouthed eye make-up application may never be solved). She hadn’t put her dress on yet, but was wearing a cute bra and panties set and the stockings that made Dean walk into the doorjam.

“I don’t know,” Marty replied honestly.

“Maybe dating Dean triggered some kind of second puberty because your ass is rounder too,” Ruby said.

“What?” Marty twisted around to check out her new, rounder bottom. Once she was satisfied that she did not, in fact, have a big bottom, Marty went back to her make-up. “I don’t know. All of me has gotten rounder.”

“Are you pregnant, Sister Mary Martha?” Ruby asked.

“Only if it’s an Immaculate Conception,” Marty joked, then blushed at her own audacity.

“Do you think Dean would be like Joseph and raise God’s kid without fighting about it?” Ruby asked.

“Good grief, I dunno,” Marty said. “Probably. He likes kids.”

“What the hell kind of 18 year old guy likes kids?” Ruby snorted.

Marty looked at Ruby in the mirror. “Maybe a guy who raised his baby brother?”

“Ah, touche.” Ruby nodded.

“Still no info on their dad?” Marty asked, leaning a hip against her dresser.

The girls had decided that Sam was going to be the weak link in the story of the Winchesters’ missing father. If their parents had been divorced like regular parents, one or both of the boys would have said something by now when asked. But Sam and Dean Winchester were silent as the tomb with dad information.

Ruby shook her head. “Nothing. I’ve tried to bring it up, but there never seems to be a good time.”

“You guys lock yourselves in Sam’s room all day long after school,” Marty protested incredulously. “How haven’t you asked then?”

“When? When we’re having sex?” Ruby teased. “Talk about a mood killer. ‘Hey, babe. I know we’re pounding away at each other, but can you tell me all about your absent daddy?’”

Marty burst out laughing. “Okay. That was kind of stupid.”

“You look like a centerfold,” Ruby said suddenly. “Put some clothes on, Kate Upton.”

Marty posed for a split second before pulling her sweater and skirt on.

“What did Dean get me?” Marty asked, stowing a lipstick and her mobile in a different purse.

“Nice try,” Ruby scoffed.

“Am I getting it tonight?”

“Again with the trying,” Ruby teased. “You cannot break me. I … am … titanium.”

“You are a giant jerk,” Marty told her.

“Marty, Dean’s here!” Deborah’s voice called up the stairs.

Marty turned to Ruby, adjusting her clothes. “How do I look?”

“Like a teenage dream.”

“I hate you so much.”

“You love me and you know it.” Ruby followed Marty downstairs.

“Hey, Rubes,” Dean greeted her easily, ignoring the furious glare James was shooting him from the doorway of his den. “Wow. Marty, you look amazing.” Dean kissed her cheek. “I promise not to have her home too late, Mrs. W. Dinner, then ice cream, then home. I know you guys have church in the morning.”

“Did you--?” Deborah began but Marty shook her head swiftly and Deborah cut herself off. “Thank you, Dean. That’s very considerate.”

Dean cracked a half smile, helped Marty into her coat and they left. Neither of them bothered to acknowledge James’ presence.

“So, this is a nice place?” Dean asked after they were seated.

Marty nodded, opening her menu. Two dinners out two nights in a row and neither meal was pizza or fast food.. It was positively opulent.

“Dean, can you afford this?” Marty whispered over the table.

“Yeah,” Dean assured her. “I’ve been saving up.”

“For my birthday?” Marty teased.

“For life,” Dean replied honestly.

Their eyes met and Marty felt that rush of heat through her limbs that always happened when Dean looked at her like that. Over their dinner, Marty felt herself growing more and more convinced that Dean Winchester could, quite possibly, be the perfect man. There wasn’t a person, male or female, who walked past their table that didn’t do a double take upon seeing him, but he only looked at her. The way he held her hand, enveloping the whole thing in his bigger grasp with his thumb tracing light circles on her palm was enough to drive her mad. His eyes and that mouth? Marty sighed a little out loud without realizing she did it.

“You okay, Ginger?” Dean asked softly as their waiter took their plates away.

“So okay,” Marty replied.

“You seem kinda … high,” Dean commented.

“You make me like this,” Marty told him.

Dean pursed his lips before licking them. Marty’s eyes crossed as they followed the path of his tongue. Dean’s low chuckle snapped her out of her reverie.

“Let’s get out of here.” Dean tucked the waiter’s tip under his water glass and held Marty’s hand as they walked out of the restaurant. Just like on the first day of school, Marty was able to stare down the curious onlookers with a regal stare that said “He’s all mine.”

They had huge sundaes at Baskin Robbin’s where Dean insisted on lighting a candle he pulled out of the front pocket of his leather jacket and making Marty blow it out, prompting other customers to clap for her. Marty was pretty sure her red face would melt her mint chocolate chip ice cream before she had a chance to dig in.

“Good birthday, Ginger?” Dean asked as he tucked her into the front seat of his car.

“The best,” Marty assured him and dove into his lap. Straddling his hips, Marty kissed Dean with all her might, pushing his coat open and starting to unbutton his shirt. She moved her mouth to his neck, sucking the skin, letting her breath tickle his sensitive ear when she kissed behind it.

Dean grabbed her hips, pulling her down closer to the suddenly rock hard bulge in the front of his jeans. Marty ground down hard on it, loving the way the rough material of his jeans rubbed against her panties. Pulling his neck away from her mouth, Dean moved his lips up her throat, running his tongue along the ridges of her throat muscles to her mouth.

“Dean! Dean!” Marty gasped before he could kiss her. “I want to--we should--”

Dean stopped immediately, the kissing, the tonguing, the grinding. “No.”

“What?” Marty gasped.

“Not like this. Not here,” Dean told her. “Not in the front seat of my car on a public street--”

“Then take me somewhere!” Marty demanded, going for his buttons again.

Dean stayed her hands. “Marty, c’mon. Do you really want to lose your virginity like this?”

“I don’t care!” Marty told him, furious because she knew he was right. “I just want you.”

“And I want you, but I can’t have you. Not like this.” Dean eased Marty off his lap and onto the seat next to him.

“Don’t you want to have sex with me?” Marty asked.

“Do I want--are you fucking _kidding_ me?” Dean dragged a hand over his face then through his spiky hair. “ _Of course_ I want to have sex with you. It’s all I fucking think about, having sex with you. But I want it to be … I dunno … _right_ for you. Ya know, special.”

Marty’s heart almost exploded. “Dean Winchester, are you being sweet and sensitive?”

Dean adjusted his jeans and exhaled deeply. “Yeah. Just don’t tell anybody, okay?”


	31. Chapter 31

“This is officially the worst idea ever,” Marty groused as Ruby drove in circles around the mall parking lot.

It was December 23rd. Boredom had forced Marty and Ruby out of the house, into Ruby’s car, and to the mall. Not the best thought-out plan, considering how close it was to Christmas, but no one said that a decision fueled by too much coffee and junk food was made wisely.

“Shut up,” Ruby gritted her teeth as she spun into a spot. “I drove an hour and a half to get here. I’m not going back right away.”

Heads ducked against wind, the girls hurried into the packed mall. The crowds of harried shoppers jostled each other, frantically ticking gifts off their lists.

“Are you totally done shopping?” Ruby asked.

Marty nodded. “I know you’re not.”

“Hell no I’m not,” Ruby replied. “I have no idea what to get Mary. What did you get Mary?”

“Dean told me she wanted a new book light, so I picked one up last week.”

Ruby groaned. “What can I get her?”

“There’s a Barnes and Noble right up the road,” Marty said. “We can go there for her.”

“Awesome.” Ruby sounded relieved. “Now. Let’s go to f.y.e. and get you some music.”

“I think we’re gonna need a cart,” Marty said about 30 minutes ago. Her arms were full of CDs. Mentally going over Dean’s music selection from the car and his room, she had chosen the greatest hits CDs of Led Zeppelin, AC/DC, The Who, and Boston with her own person preference for Joan Jett and Pat Benatar. Also in the pile was a rockabilly CD by a singer called Imelda May that had been playing when they first entered the store and a disc by a band called The Donnas chosen strictly because the girls on the cover are having a 70s-style slumber party.

“How much money do you have left?” Ruby asked. She was holding a t-shirt and a pair of earbuds.

“Why?” Marty asked. “Do you need me to buy those for you?”

“They’re for Sam.”

“I already bought Sam a present.”

Ruby pouted. “These are from me.”

Marty sighed gustily. “You’re ridiculous. Give them here.”

Ruby added her purchases to Marty’s pile. “Thanks, sis,” she beamed.

“What about your parents?” Marty asked. “Did you get them anything?”

Ruby nodded. “I got them a gift cards to dinner and the movies.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Marty said, dumping her purchases on the check-out counter. “I should get that for mine.”

“You haven’t gotten them anything yet? _You_? Miss Responsible?” Ruby pretended to be shocked.

“Oh, shut up,” Marty laughed. “You know Daddy and I have been fighting. It’s hard to get in the spirit of the season when your own father loathes you.”

“He doesn’t loathe you,” Ruby told her as the f.y.e. employee said, “$158.89.”

“Jeez criminy!” Marty said before glaring at Ruby. “You owe me for Sam.”

“I promise I’ll pay you back,” Ruby swore.

Marty handed over her gift card and debit card. “You’re buying me lunch too.”

Ruby made an x over her heart with her pinky and kissed it. “Cross my heart.”

Over lunch at a nearby Panera Bread, Ruby and Marty discussed what Sam and Dean could have possibly gotten them for Christmas. Marty was still obsessing over why Dean would want to know what her birthstone was. Ruby, on the other hand, was sure Sam was getting her a new mobile phone cover and a ruby necklace.

“How do you know that?” Marty asked.

“Because I left the Zales website up on his laptop with the necklace I want right there where he could find it,” Ruby replied.

“You did not,” Marty gasped.

“I did too,” Ruby grinned. “It’s so pretty. It’s a heart and one side of the heart is a dolphin and the ruby’s in the middle with little pinky colored leaves attached to the ruby like it’s a flower.”

“How much is this pretty thing going to cost him?” Marty asked.

Ruby shrugged. “$80, I think? It’s not that much and, besides, I gave him my virginity. The least he could do is give me a necklace.”

“He gave you his virginity too,” Marty snapped. This whole conversation was making her feel sick to her stomach.

“Yeah, but a guy’s virginity isn’t worth as much as a girl’s,” Ruby told her. “The Bible says so.”

“Where?” Marty demanded.

Ruby faltered in her conviction. “I--I don’t know. But it does.”

Marty snorted, turning her attention back to her soup. They ate in silence for a few minutes before Ruby suddenly blurted out,

“And he shall take a wife in her virginity. A widow, or a divorced woman, or a woman who has been defiled, or a prostitute, these he shall not marry. But he shall take as his wife a virgin of his own people. Leviticus 21:13-14.”

Marty glared up at her best friend through her eyelashes. “Guess you shouldn’t have done it at all then. According to Leviticus.”

“Maybe the necklace is my bride-price.” Ruby started to snicker. Her snickers soon turned to giggles.

“Well, then you have to marry him, according to Exodus 22:16-17,” Marty told her.

“How do you know all this?” Ruby asked.

“How do you _not_ know all this?” Marty shot back. “It’s been drilled into our heads since we could read.”

Ruby looked annoyed, shrugging with one shoulder. “Let’s get to Barnes and Noble already.”

“Am I going to have to buy Mary’s present for you too?” Marty asked.

“No, I’m sure I can find something for $30.” Ruby checked her wallet. “Uh … $10?”

“Oh, good Lord.” Marty grumbled. “You can owe me for Mary too.”

“I bought lunch! This was expensive!” Ruby gestured over the empty plates.

Marty and Ruby left, heading over to Barnes and Noble. Marty could lose herself in that store for hours, but Ruby could only wander around in book stacks for about 30 minutes before she started whining like a little kid.

With Ruby’s presents for Mary (a tote bag that said “My best friend is a person who will give me a book I have not read” and a new coffee mug) purchased, the girls headed home. Marty was still smarting from the lunchtime conversation. Everything she had been taught about sex her whole life boiled down to two things:

  1. Premarital sex was a sin.

  2. Don’t have premarital sex.




But … there was Dean … with her green eyes and his sweet kisses … his strong arms and his amazing tongue … Marty couldn’t imagine not having sex with him.

“You know Dean keeps turning me down,” she said suddenly.

“What?” Ruby asked.

“Dean.” Marty glanced out her window, embarrassed. “I keep trying to get him to … ya know … with me, but he keeps telling me it’s not right and we need to wait.”

Ruby twisted her lips, obviously thinking. “Maybe he doesn’t think you’re ready.”

“But I am ready!” Marty cried out. “I’m _so_ ready. I’m so ready to have sex with him!”

Ruby glanced at Marty appreciatively. “I guess so. But he keeps saying no?”

Marty nodded. “It’s like he doesn’t want to.”

“All guys want to,” Ruby volunteered sagely. “Sam wants to more than he wants to breathe, I think.”

“But why doesn’t Dean?” Marty whined a little.

“Maybe he doesn’t want you to do it for the first time in the backseat of a car.” Ruby’s voice was wistful.

It was almost exactly what Dean had said when he’d taken her out to dinner, but what about all the other times they had been alone in his room, twisted up and sweaty with the taste of each other on their lips? Why didn’t Dean make love to her then? What was he waiting for?

Then it hit Marty: Dean loved her. He had told her so. He had said it first. Dean was waiting for her to be ready because he loved her.

 _Well, guess what?_ Marty thought. _I love him. And I’m ready. There’s no way he can tell me ‘no’ now._

Christmas morning dawned icy cold, grey, and gloomy. Marty yawned, stretched and checked her phone. No texts yet from Dean or Ruby, but it was only 8am, so there was no way they were up.

Crawling out of bed, she padded downstairs with her parents’ gift in hand. Marty eyed the tree as she walked by. There were a bunch of red and green wrapped gifts under the tree. She knew they weren’t all for her, but a little thrill went through her. Christmas morning. How awesome.

Tucking the card for her parents with their “date night gift cards” in it next to a large box with ‘Deborah’ written on the gift tag, Marty headed into the kitchen. The smell of freshly brewed coffee would get her parents moving.

“Merry Christmas.” Deborah’s voice said before the first pot was even done brewing.

“Merry Christmas, Mama,” Marty replied.

“Oh, bless you, you made coffee.” Deborah kissed Marty on the cheek as she poured herself a cup. “Are you ready to open presents?”

“Yes!” Marty smiled. “Do we have to wait for Daddy?”

“Yes, we have to wait for your father.” Deborah gave Marty a Mom Look. “He was following me down.”

“And here I am,” James said, entering the kitchen.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” Marty said carefully, suddenly unsure of the mood in the room.

“Merry Christmas, Mary Martha,” James replied evenly. “I see you made yourself coffee.”

Marty bristled, but refused to be baited. “I made all of us coffee. It’s cinnamon hazelnut.”

James huffed. “I’ll wait for a pot of regular.”

Deborah and Marty glanced at each other.

“Let’s open presents,” Marty suggested.

The Webers dove into the presents cheerfully enough. Marty started feeling guilty when she realized how much her parents had gotten for her. There was plenty of things for her dorm room next year, a UK sweatshirt, a gift card for Barnes and Noble for an extremely generous amount, a new purse, and a caramel brown pea coat.

“This is all too much,” Marty said. “This coat is amazing. Thank you so much.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” Deborah beamed at her.

“I’m glad you like everything,” James added formally.

“Is this sweatshirt from you, Daddy?” Marty asked politely. “I can’t wait to curl up in it. It’s huge.”

“If it’s too big, I can always return it,” James said.

“No!” Marty cried out. “I love how big it is. Perfect for layering.”

James smiled, his first real smile in months, at the excitement in Marty’s voice. “Good for chilly dorm rooms?”

“Perfect for chilly dorm rooms,” Marty assured him. Reaching behind her, Marty drew out her card. “Okay, this is from me and it’s so small and pathetic and I’m totally embarrassed by it now.”

She held out the card. James opened it with Deborah leaning over his shoulder. They read looked at the gift cards in James’ hands, then up at Marty’s pink cheeks.

“Isn’t that nice?” Deborah said, smiling. “It’s been years since your father and I have been on a date.”

“This is wonderful,” James told Marty, looking very serious. “Thank you, Mary Martha.”

Marty ducked her head briefly. “You’re welcome.”

The first pleasant exchange in months between father and daughter made the Webers pause and appreciate the moment. It wasn’t much, but baby steps were still steps.

“Marty? Here comes Dean.” Deborah moved to the door to let Dean in.

“Merry Christmas,” Dean greeted the Weber women at the same time. He kissed Deborah on the cheek and handed her a bouquet. “I asked the florist for something Christmas-y,” he said, gesturing at the flowers. “It looks like a bunch of red fluff and glitter to me.”

Deborah laughed and brushed glitter off the front of Dean’s shirt. “A lot of glitter.”

“Ugh. Glitter.” Dean made a face. Then he turned to Marty. “Merry Christmas, Ginger.”

Marty accepted a chaste kiss on the mouth. “You want your present?”

Dean’s eyes gleamed. “Sure. Whatcha got?”

“Cheeky,” Marty teased, leading him into the living room.

“Merry Christmas, Mr. Weber.” Dean crossed the living room with his hand outstretched, which James had no choice but to take and shake.

“You also,” James replied.

“Where are you three off to today?” Dean asked James.

“We’ll be leaving for Mrs. Weber’s mother’s house in about 30 minutes,” James replied.

“Isn’t that a coincidence?” Dean said. “We’re also leaving for Granny Albrecht’s house in about 30 minutes.”

“Who is?” Marty asked.

“Mom, Sam, and me,” Dean answered, smiling at her. “Granny insisted we come over for Christmas dinner. We’re in charge of two types of potatoes.”

Marty squealed and clasped her hands. “Granny invited you over too?”

“Isn’t that nice?” Deborah said. “Isn’t it, James?”

James was frozen to the floor. “Isn’t it now?” he echoed haltingly.

“I think so.” Dean’s smile was maddeningly cheerful. “Now, Ging, let’s get down to presents.”

Marty handed Dean a heavy gift bag, blushing and grinning nervously. Without taking his eyes off Marty, Dean reached into the bag and pulled out a copy of C.S. Lewis’ _Out of the Silent Planet_. Dean’s cocky smile disappeared into a look of genuine shock and surprise.

“Ginger--Marty, what is--?” he stammered. “How did you--?”

“Look again,” Marty urged, practically dancing with excitement.

Dean sat down on the couch with a thump and dug into the bag. He pulled out two more books, _Perelandra_ and _That Hideous Strength_.

“It’s the whole _Space Trilogy_ ,” Marty told him.

“How … how did you find these?” Dean asked quietly as he reverently turned all three books over and over in his hands.

“Don’t worry about it,” Marty said.

Dean looked up at her. “How much did this cost you?”

“It’s a gift, Dean,” Marty said. “Don’t even think about how much it cost.”

“Marty, honestly,” Dean’s voice shook a little. “This is the most amazing gift ever. How did you ever guess …?”

“Any man who has a hardcover copies of the entire _Chronicles of Narnia_ is more than just a casual fan,” Marty told him, sitting down next to him. She leaned over and put her chin on his shoulder. “You like them?”

“I love them,” Dean told her. He kissed her impulsively once, twice, a third time. Parents be damned. “I love you.”

“I love you too, Dean,” Marty replied softly.

“Remember who said it first.”

The two of them sat for a minute before Dean snapped out of his revery.

“Right,” he began but Deborah entered the room, carrying her coat.

“We have to leave now,” she told Marty.

“I haven’t gotten my gift yet,” Marty complained.

“Grab your coat, Marty,” Dean said. “Mrs. W, Marty and I can drive over together, right?”

“I don’t see anything wrong with that.”

“Awesome. Let’s go, Ging.” Dean grabbed his gift and Marty’s arm, tugging her toward the front door. “Don’t forget your purse.”

“Bye, Mama,” Marty barely got the sentence out before Dean had her out the front door. “Dean, stop pulling my coat--”

“Whattya think?” Dean interrupted.

“About what?” Marty asked, looking up from her buttons.

Sitting in front of her house was an aquamarine pickup truck. Next to her, Dean was practically exploding with excitement. Marty looked from truck to Dean to truck again.

“What is that?” she asked.

“It’s a 2005 Chevy Colorado pickup with a completely rebuilt engine and a custom paint job,” Dean answered. “Huh? Pretty awesome, right?”

“You got me a truck for Christmas?” Marty asked, stunned. “I don’t know what to say.”

“Say anything.”

“Holy shit.”

Dean nodded approvingly. “That’s definitely anything.”

“When did you do all this?” Marty approached the truck cautiously like it was a sleeping viper.

“In shop,” Dean said. “I’ve been working on it for months. That’s why I worked so many hours, so I can afford the parts. Benny did the paint.”

“It’s--” Marty turned to Dean and flung her arms around his neck. He caught her around the waist and they kissed. Marty broke the kiss, looked at her truck, then kissed Dean again. “--beautiful,” she finished when the kiss broke again. “Is this why you wanted to know my birthstone?” Dean nodded and Marty burst out laughing. “I thought you were gonna buy me jewelry.”

“Only guys with no imagination buy their girls jewelry,” Dean scoffed. His green eyes sparkled in the cold air. “I knew what you wanted.”

Dean held the keys out and Marty snatched them from him. Pulling Dean now, she led him to the truck. Getting into the cab, Marty sunk into the driver’s seat like she had always sat there. Turning to Dean again, who looked slightly uncomfortable at being in the passenger seat, Marty leaned over and kissed him, slipping a teasing tongue between his lips.

Marty turned the key and her truck rumbled to life, bringing Deborah and James to the front porch at a run. She waved at them briefly before glancing at Dean out of the corner of her eye.

“You always know what I want,” she agreed. She put the truck in drive and spun the wheel, pulling away from her house.

 _And now you’re gonna know what I want too,_ Marty thought.


	32. Chapter 32

New Years Eve. Dean leaned into the bathroom mirror, dragging a hand through his hair. Last NYE, Dean had been invited to three parties, at all of which at least four girls wanted to jump him, and his major focus of the night was trying to hit all the parties before dawn. This NYE, Dean and Sam were heading over to Marty’s house for a night of junk food, bad movies, and (probably) Sam disappearing with Ruby to have sex most of the night.

“You keep banging away like that and you’re gonna start to chafe,” Dean had advised Sam.

“I’m good,” Sam had replied. “I’m well-lubricated.”

“You better be fucking well-lubricated with a condom,” Dean added.

Sam gave him a withering look. “All the time.”

“Good. I don’t wanna be an uncle. Not yet.”

Sam slammed his fist onto the door jam, making Dean jump. Catching his little brother’s eye in the mirror, Dean grinned.

“Hey, Sammy.”

“You done yet?” Sam asked.

“Why? Got a hot date?” Dean asked, moving a quarter of an inch to the left.

Sam pushed Dean out of the way to get to the mirror. Dean shoved him back. Sam, getting red-faced, shoved Dean harder. Laughing, Dean elbowed him the ribs.

“Damn it, Dean! Stop it!” Sam exclaimed.

Dean took a step back, surprised. “What’s wrong with you?”

“You’re a pain in my ass,” Sam told him.

“Dude, relax,” Dean told him.

Sam gripped the sink with both hands, his chin buried in his chest. Dean was sure Sam was trying to calm himself down.

“Sorry,” Sam growled between gritted teeth, looking up at himself and Dean in the mirror. “I’m just … pissed off.”

“Why?” Dean leaned against the wall, arms crossed over his chest.

“I dunno,” Sam muttered darkly.

“Bullshit,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

“Fine!” Sam snapped. “I bought Ruby this dolphin necklace and all she got me was a t-shirt and earbuds.”

“Yeah?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, and it’s bullshit,” Sam continued. “I mean, how the fuck does that even compare?”

“Why does it need to compare?” Dean said.

“It does!” Sam insisted. “A ruby necklace against earbuds?”

“Wait. A ruby necklace?” Dean was surprised. “How did you afford that?”

“It wasn’t that much,” Sam admitted. “But, still, necklace doesn’t equal t-shirt.”

“You’re gonna make yourself crazy over this, bro,” Dean told him. “Did you tell her what you wanted?”

“No,” Sam muttered.

“Well, then how could she know?”

“Did you tell Marty what you wanted?”

Dean thought about it. “No.”

“And she still got you a great gift,” Sam grumbled.

“ _Three_ great gifts,” Dean teased.

“Get the hell out of here.” Sam punched Dean in the arm.

Dean left the bathroom, rubbing his arm and snickering. He met Mary in the hallway. She was wearing a dress that hadn’t come out of the back of the closet for a while.

“You look beautiful, Mom,” Dean told her immediately, meaning it.

“Thanks, angel,” Mary replied, smiling. She had been invited to the Schneiders’ NYE party and gladly accepted. “I haven’t been to a party in years.”

“Well, you look great,” Dean said.

“What’s wrong with Sam?” Mary nodded at the closed bathroom door.

“There seems to be some monetary discrepancies between Sam and Ruby’s presents to each other,” Dean said as he and Mary made their way to the living room.

“Oh?” Mary commented mildly, but there was 100 layers of inflection in that time word.

“Mom,” Dean said.

“I didn’t say a thing!” Mary protested.

“You didn’t have to,” Dean told her, smiling.

“Well, I’m sorry,” Mary said. “He bought her a necklace and she bought him a t-shirt.”

“How do you know that?” Dean asked.

Mary slipped into her coat and picked up her purse. “Because I’m Mom and I know everything.” She kissed Dean on the cheek. “Have fun tonight and be good.”

Dean grinned. “I’m always good.”

“Dean Winchester,” Mary warned, shooting him a look before leaving.

Dean grabbed a soda from the fridge and plopped down on the couch to wait for Sam. A night on Marty’s couch, eating junk food and watching bad movies was a far cry from three parties in one night like last year. Gnawing disappointment crawled into his belly and began to fester there. Benny had invited all four of them to his house for a huge blow-out, but Marty had declined to go with a look of terror on her face. She stammered something about her and Ruby’s tradition of pizza and movies, but the look in her eyes made Dean give in. He’d never seen anyone look so afraid at the idea of a party in his life.

“Sammy!” Dean shouted upstairs from the couch. “You ready yet, princess?”

“Suck it!” Sam shouted back.

“Does that mean ‘no’?” Dean asked.

A slamming door told Dean that Sam wasn’t ready nor was he entertained by his brother’s questions. Dean chuckled and went back to the TV. The celebrants of NYE in NYC were already wild with glee in Times Square. Dean shook his head as the camera swooped over the drunken crowd and people screamed into the lens. His need for adventure made that look like an awesome idea but his need for order made that look like a nightmare.

“Yeah, let’s go.” Sam had appeared in the kitchen doorway.

“You look pretty, Sammy,” Dean teased, turning off the TV.

“Shut the hell up,” Sam snapped.

“Listen, if you’re gonna be an asshole all night long, you should stay here,” Dean suggested.

“I’m not gonna be--” Sam cut himself off. “Sorry. She just--” He made an annoyed noise.

“I know, buddy. I do.” Dean slung an arm around Sam’s neck, pulling him into a headlock. “But you gotta let it go. Your birthday will be better. I’ll make sure of that.”

Sam tried to choke out a response, but Dean’s grip was too tight.

“Hey!” Ruby swung Marty’s front door open to let the boys in. She kissed them both hello. “God, it’s freezing. Get in here.”

Marty came in from the kitchen, carrying sodas and bowls of chips. The living room table was already laden with enough food to feed a small army.

“There’s no way you two eat this much every year,” Sam said.

“We don’t,” Ruby agreed, pulling him onto the sofa next to her. She nuzzled his hair playfully with her nose before continuing, “We didn’t know how much you two were going to eat, so we doubled everything.”

“Tripled,” Marty laughed. She was wearing a UK sweatshirt big enough for three people, jeans, and fuzzy socks. Dean swore she never looked cuter. She curled up around Dean, who enveloped her (and her enormous sweatshirt) in his arms and kissed her deeply. “Hey,” she whispered as their lips parted. The tip of her tongue flicked his top lip playfully. “Happy New Year.”

“You too, Ginger,” Dean replied. God, she smelled amazing, like apples and pears and flowers. Was that new perfume or shampoo or something? Whatever it was, it was making Dean a little lightheaded.

Marty looked at him funny. “You feeling okay?”

“You smell …” Dean pulled Marty’s neck closer to his nose, inhaling, before nibbling her earlobe a little “... good.”

“I taste even better,” Marty whispered back, but her cheeks went red at her own words.

Dean bit his lip ruefully at that. “Damn it. You’re sexy.”

“First movie in this marathon,” Ruby announced suddenly, making Dean and Marty pay attention to her, “is _New York Minute_.”

“Aren’t the Olsen twins in that?” Sam asked.

“How do you even _know_ that?” Dean asked.

“How do you _not_?” Sam replied.

“I should have monitored your TV intake more when you were a kid,” Dean commented as Ruby loaded the DVD and joined them back on the couch.

“Now the #1 rule of Bad Movie Marathon is that you _must_ yell sarcastic things at the screen,” Marty told the boys.

“No problem there,” Dean said as the credits began. “This movie already sucks!” he exclaimed.

“Nothing’s happened yet,” Ruby laughed.

“It started. That’s enough for me,” Dean joked, sending the room into fits.

It didn’t take long before the movie was drown out by so much sarcastic yelling, it almost stopped making sense. It wasn’t until Sam mocked the senator’s son (“Why would you want _them_ for your birthday?”) that the foursome agreed it was time to watch something else.

“My turn to pick!” Marty untangled herself from Dean’s arms to chose a movie. Her sweatshirt slipped off her shoulder, _Flash Dance_ -style, and Dean’s caught a glimpse of red bra strap.

 _Red? Is red new? I don’t remember red,_ Dean’s hormones volunteered the thought.

“Oh, god. Please no,” Ruby groaned. “Not--”

“ _The Princess Diaries_!” Marty held up the DVD case. Ruby flopped over on the couch, burying her face in a pillow.

“Hell yeah! Anne Hathaway!” Dean cheered.

Marty and Ruby froze and looked at him. Dean shrugged.

“She’s hot,” he explained.

“True,” Sam agreed.

“And occasionally topless,” Dean said.

“ _Brokeback Mountain_ ,” Sam said without skipping a beat.

“ _Havoc_ ,” Dean added.

Marty shook _The Princess Diaries_ DVD at them. “You two are destroying the sanctity of my Disney Princess!”

“If that’s the case, you don’t want to hear what Dean says about Belle,” Sam told her.

Marty glared at Dean, who looked innocently back at her.

“I’d do her.” Dean pursed his lips and winked.

“You’re disgusting.” Marty turned her back to him.

“You love me and you know it.”

“That doesn’t make you any less disgusting.”

It wasn’t 15 minutes into the movie before Sam and Ruby were mauling each other on the couch. Dean and Marty moved as far away from them as possible, but even the opposite end of a wrap-around sofa didn’t give them enough room.

“Sam,” Dean said. Sam’s face was buried deep into Ruby’s neck, so he didn’t hear him. Dean tried again, “Sam!”

“Huh?” Sam looked up, glassy-eye, from Ruby, who made a soft whine in protest.

“Please don’t have sex in front of me,” Dean ordered.

“Go somewhere else,” Marty begged.

“Marts?” Ruby cast her eyes up to the ceiling.

“No!” Marty cried out, horrified. “You’re not having sex in my bed!”

“Fine,” Ruby huffed.

“C’mon, Ru.” Sam stood up, tugging Ruby to her feet. “Mom’s at the party. Our house is clear.”

Ruby blew a kiss over her shoulder as they left. “Have fun, kids.”

Once they were alone, Marty sunk further into Dean’s embrace. Dean kissed her hard, letting his hands run over her. Moving to her neck, Dean slid his hand up under her sweatshirt. He felt her nipples harden under his fingers as he rolled them back and forth. Marty plunged her hand into the front of his jeans to tease his cock. Dean groaned deep in his throat as her hand curled around the curve of his dick and stroked.

“Dean,” Marty whispered.

Dean pushed her sweatshirt up and tongued her stiff nipples through the lacy fabric of her bra. Yeah, this was definitely a new bra: red, lacy, practically see through and way sexier than Marty’s usual choices. Dean nibbled harder on Marty’s nipples as he unbuttoned her jeans.

“Dean,” Marty moaned before he could slide his fingers under the waistband of her panties. “Dean, wait.”

“Fucking seriously?” Dean demanded as Marty extracted herself from under and around him.

Marty held her hand out. Dean looked from her hand to her face then back to her hand again.

“Come with me,” she said, her voice low.

“Upstairs?” Dean asked, cocking his head to the side.

“To my room.”

“You … you sure?” Dean asked, stammering a little.

Dean watched as Marty licked her lips slowly then watched as her mouth curled into a Cheshire Cat grin.

“So sure.”

You didn’t have to tell Dean twice.


	33. Chapter 33

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to pcjmlow and Petrichor_Amber, because they waited SO LONG. Just as long as Dean, in fact, but he was much more patient about it.

As Marty led Dean upstairs to her room, Dean went over a few important pointers in his head:

_Don’t rush. Don’t scare her. Don’t rush. Lots of kissing. Oral. Don’t rush. Don’t rush. For fuck’s sake, Winchester, don’t rush._

Dean didn’t have to worry about rushing, because Marty was on him like glue as soon as her door was shut. The light was still out and Dean stumbled over a pair of shoes in the middle of the floor as Marty yanked at Dean’s belt.

“Marty! Hey, hey! Wait a second!” Dean tried to fend her off for a minute.

“I’m tired of waiting,” Marty panted. She pushed his hands away to get back at him.

“No. _Wait,_ ” Dean ordered. “Just stop.” Dean took Marty’s hands out of his jeans and put them on his waist. “If you rush through this just to get it done, you’re going to hate it. We have all night. Take your time.”

Marty’s frantic mood was gone in a flash. “I know.”

“Good.” Dean lifted Marty;s face and kissed her softly on the lips. “Now. Calm down and let’s just … enjoy this. Okay?”

Dean felt Marty smile against his mouth. “Okay.”

_Thank fucking god,_ Dean thought. One more second of Marty pawing at him like a crazed nympho would have killed his whole ‘Don’t rush’ rule.

Slowly, so slowly, Dean walked Marty to her bed, sitting her down on the edge. He knelt in front on her and kissed her. As Marty’s arms went around him, Dean felt her body turn from a rigid wire trembling with energy to a soft, gentle soul he knew she was.

Reaching between them, Dean fumbled with the button of her jeans with trembling fingers. Why was he so nervous? It wasn’t like he had never done this before. But then he realized: he hadn’t ever done this before. Dean Winchester, with all his experience with girls, had never once made love to a girl he’d truly cared about. Just the thought made Dean’s stomach clench.

“Are you okay?” Marty whispered.

_Shit._ She must have felt his hands shake. Dean smiled up at her in the dim light of the bedroom.

“Sure, Ginger,” he replied.

“It’s okay if you’re nervous,” Marty said.

“I’m not--nervous.” Dean felt his bravado kick into overtime. _Dude, you asshole,_ he thought. _She was just being sweet. Be honest with her._ “Sorry. It’s … uh … been a while.” _Nice save, dickweed._

Marty nodded a little. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, Ging,” Dean told her. Thank god it was dark in the room so she couldn’t see his red face. “I didn’t mean--”

“Stop. Just stop.” Marty laid a hand over his mouth. “You talk too much when you’re nervous.”

“I do not,” Dean argued from behind her fingers.

Marty smirked down at him. “Really? You wanna fight about that now?”

Dean shook his head, smiling. “No, ma’am.”

“Good,” Marty murmured and leaned back so he could finish unbuttoning and unzipping her jeans.

Dean pulled her jeans down over Marty’s legs, then kissed up her calves to her knees (she giggled), then kissed again up her thighs to her mound (she sighed). Dean placed one large hand on her belly and gave her a little nudge backwards, which prompted Marty to flop back onto the bed with her hands over her head. Dean kissed her clit through the thin, black and red panties ( _oh, yeah, these are so new_ ), wetting the lacy material with his eager tongue. Above him, Marty moaned quietly in anticipation. Moving the material to the side, Dean ran his tongue over the button of her clit softly at first, loving the way her hips raised up to meet his mouth.

Stopping only long enough to pull her panties off completely, Dean nestled back between Marty’s thighs. He positioned one leg over each shoulder and buried his mouth between her lips.

“Oh, god, Dean!” Marty cried out suddenly, jerking away from him a little.

Dean grabbed her thighs and pulled her back, laving her slit eagerly. He snaked his arms up underneath her and into her sweatshirt to grab her tits. Marty propped herself up briefly to yank her shirt and bra off, then fell back onto the mattress. Dean ran his hands over her naked breasts before pinching each nipple lightly.

Marty’s gasp encouraged him, so Dean twisted a little. Another gasp. Twist harder. Another, louder gasp. Dean clamped his mouth down over her clit and sucked hard. A shrieky cry followed by Marty grabbing his head to pull him closer to her clit spurred Dean on.

“Don’t stop! God, don’t stop! Oh, Dean. Fuck! I mean--Fuck! Dean! Oh, god. Oh, god. _Ohgodohgodohgodohgodohgod_!”

Flicking and twisting her nipples back and forth while sucking on her clit brought Marty to an orgasm so fast, Dean was almost convinced for half a second she was faking. It was when he could taste her cum on his tongue while Marty ground her pussy into his mouth that Dean knew it was all real. He started to slow down, but Marty shot up on her elbows to glare down at him.

“For fuck’s sake, _don’t stop_!” she nearly screamed as another orgasm ripped through her, making her shriek again. She threw back her head, arched her back, and came hard.

When Marty’s breathing slowed down, Dean stood up and looked down at her. Sprawled across her bed, her red hair spread out under her head, one arm over her eyes, chest heaving,  her nipples still rock hard, Dean was pretty sure that was the sexiest thing he’d ever seen. Marty uncovered her eyes and gazed up at him.

“Why do you even still have clothes on?” she asked, biting the corner of her lower lip.

“You want me to take them off?” Dean replied.

“Yes,” she whispered. Her excitement turned the ‘s’ to a long hiss.

With Marty watching, Dean undressed slowly. Shirt first, then t-shirt. He heard her breath catch at him without a shirt on, so he paused.

“More,” she demanded softly, sitting up a little to watch the show.

His belt was already unbuckled, so Dean unbuttoned and unzipped with such excruciating slowness, even he got a little turned on. Pushing his jeans down, he kicked them off easily, leaving his boxer briefs slung low over his hips.

“You’re beautiful, Dean Winchester,” Marty told him softly.

Dean winced at the word ‘beautiful,’ but not enough for Marty to notice as she knelt up on the bed on her hands and knees to finish pulling off his clothes for him. His hard cock popped out of his boxers as she pushed them off. It was then Marty slid her tongue up the underside of his dick.

“Marty, hang on. Let me--” Dean began.

“No. Like this. Watch me.” Marty slipped Dean into her mouth and worked her way down his shaft.

“Holy shit.” Dean leaned forward a little and put both hands on Marty’s shoulder blades to steady himself. “Holy shit. _Holy shit_!”

Had she been practicing? Marty slid his lips up and down his cock over and over again, running her tongue in fast, sloppy circles around the head before plunging her mouth back down the length of him again. Dean clamped his teeth down on his tongue to stop from crying out.

“Don’t you like it?” Marty’s breathless voice surprised him.

“What?” Dean gasped. “Yes!”

“Then make a noise,” Marty ordered and sucked the head of his dick so hard, Dean let out a shout.

“Jesus, Marty!” Dean could feel the suction in his toes. His balls started to tighten up and he knew he would cum like a champ in about two seconds if she didn’t stop. But god, her fucking mouth. He didn’t want her to stop.

Moving his hips forward to meet her rhythm, Dean felt Marty gag around the width of his dick, but he couldn’t stop. Thrusting harder, Dean started to moan.

“Marty, wait. I’m gonna--cum,” Dean grunted.

All at once her mouth was gone.

“No, you’re not,” Marty said sweetly, running her tongue up his dick in a teasing, zig-zaggy motion. “Come here.”

Dean climbed onto her bed next to her. Together, they shoved the bed clothes out of the way and curled up in each other’s arms. Dean needed to calm down and Marty, he was pretty sure, needed to psych herself up for what was coming next. Leaning over to kiss the red haired girl in his arms, Dean marvelled at how incredibly sexy she was.

“What?” Marty asked, smiling self-consciously.

“Nothin’,” Dean replied. “You’re just sexy as hell.”

“Am not,” Marty said.

“Are too.”

“Not.”

“Too.”

Marty opened her mouth to continue, but Dean reached down and slipped a finger into the wet folds of her pussy. Marty drew in a long breath as Dean’s finger moved in and out of her slowly.

“Marty, relax, love,” Dean whispered in her ear.

“Okay.” Marty’s eyes were shut. She pressed her lips together, but her body didn’t loosen up.

Dean moved his finger slower. “Love, you gotta relax or it’s gonna hurt.”

“It’s gonna hurt anyway,” Marty told him between unmoving lips.

“Not if you let me do this,” Dean assured her. “Here. Come here.”

Dean wiggled down the bed and back in between her legs. This time his tongue was slower, more gentle, licking in time with his finger thrusts. Marty’s legs untensed on either side of him, so Dean slipped a second finger inside her as he tasted her.

“God, Dean,” Marty breathed out. “More.”

“How much more?” Dean asked, looking up at her.

Marty met his gaze. “All of it.”

Dean got to his knees, spreading Marty’s legs wide. Suddenly, he realized: no condom.

“Here.” Marty thrust a wrapped condom into his hand.

“Where--?”

“Really? Now?”

“Nope.” Dean unwrapped the condom and worked it down over his cock.

Lifting her hips off the mattress a little, Dean worked the head in. Marty sucked in a lungful of air and went rigid. Dean stopped.

“Marty, please,” he said softly, reaching up to touch her face. “Relax. I won’t hurt you. Promise.”

“Okay.” Marty went a little less tense.

“Love, c’mon.”

“I’m trying!”

“Shhh-shhh-shhh.” Dean reached between them and rolled her clit under his thumb. Marty thrust her hips forward to meet his touch and Dean pushed in.

The cry Marty let out was surprise, tinged with pain. She scooted a little away from him, off his cock, but Dean waited until he was sure she was ready. When her back lowered back onto the bed, Dean propped himself up on his hands and started to move.

In, out, back, forth. Dean felt Marty’s pussy clamp down on his cock tightly. She was wet and slippery but taut at the same time. Marty turned her head to the side, eyes squeezed shut.

“Look at me, love,” Dean encouraged. “C’mon, Marty. Look at me.”

Marty looked up at him, her eyes filled with worry and fear and love and lust. Dean leaned over and kissed her, but he didn’t stop. Suddenly, he felt Marty’s legs wrap around his hips. Lowering himself down to lean on his forearms, Dean buried his face in Marty’s neck, kissing, nuzzling, biting.

“Dean,” Marty moaned in his ear.

“Oh, god, Marty,” he gasped back.

Marty arched up, her hips moving with his. Her arms slipped around him, her fingers digging into his back.

“Kiss me,” she begged and he did, his mouth mashed down on hers messily as he tried to keep his rhythm going but kiss her lovingly at the same time.

Marty’s legs tightened around him, pulling him deeper inside her. Dean gasped at the feel of it. Jesus, she was tight and soaked and smooth and so tight and oh fuck.

“Fuck,” he groaned.

“Yes,” Marty whispered, her breath tickling his neck. “Don’t stop, Dean. Please.”

In his head, Dean tried everything to think of how to rebuild a transmission, but it wasn’t working. Marty was under him, moaning and moving and holding onto him. Her pussy was gripping him tighter and tighter.

_Don’t fuck cum! Not before her!_ his brain screamed.

“Dean!” Marty let out a cry loud enough to wake the dead, soaking them both.

It was all Dean needed to push him over the edge. With one final thrust, Dean arched his back and came, moaning Marty’s name. Holding himself up, Dean panted as his body shook, pleasure coursing through him. A bead of sweat dripped off the end of his nose, landing on Marty’s forehead. Giggling a little, she wiped it away.

“Come here,” she whispered and pulled his face to hers to kiss him.

“Hang on. I have to--” Dean pulled out slowly, making Marty intake a sharp breath. He rolled the condom off and tossed it into the trashcan next to her desk.

With that formality out of the way, Dean gathered Marty to his chest. Marty snuggled into his embrace, flinging one leg over him, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. They lay there like that for what felt like forever before Dean nudged her.

“No sleeping,” he teased.

“Who’s sleeping?” she replied. “I’m too busy thinking.”

“About what?” Dean asked.

“How much I love my boyfriend,” Marty told him.

“Shucks.” Dean pretended to be embarrassed.

“And how much I want to do it again,” Marty added.

Dean almost choked. “I don’t think you’re ready for round two just yet.”

Marty sighed. “Too bad,” she murmured. “Because I bet you are.”

Dean glanced down on his cock. “Give me 10 minutes.”

Marty lifted her head up, her eyes glistening. “I’ll give you five.”

Dean arched one eyebrow “Why do I have a feeling I’m in for a long night?”


	34. Chapter 34

A sharp elbow dug into Marty’s ribs. Snapping her head up, Marty met the annoyed eyes of Deborah. Pastor Schneider was droning on and on in front of the congregation, something about … something Biblical. Marty had tuned him out about 40 minutes prior, thinking instead about what she could possibly give Dean for his birthday.

“Sorry,” Marty whispered.

“Pay attention,” Deborah whispered back.

“Sorry,” Marty repeated.

Deborah pressed her lips together and glared pointedly up at their pastor. Marty turned her attention to Pastor Schneider, but her attention wandered again.

21 days since she’d lost her virginity and Marty was just as shy and unsure about sex as she was before. Dean was patient and kind, taking his time when they were in bed together, slow kisses, long, tender bouts of foreplay that left her shuddering and panting before Dean slid deep inside her, making her cry out. She didn’t know how Dean knew how to make her body react the way he did because she was still learning how her body reacted.

Marty felt her face flush. There was no way to hide her red cheeks, drawing a curious glance from James. Marty looked away from James, meeting the eyes of Richard Drayton, a classmate from school. Richard Drayton sneered at her, staring blatantly at her chest.

“Nice tits,” he mouthed across the aisle between their benches.

Marty went red with anger. She popped a middle finger up at him, hidden behind her Bible. Her reaction just made Richard Drayton grin wider.

“You wish,” he said next.

Marty rolled her eyes. “Nope,” she said silently before turning away.

After service was over, Marty was shrugging into her new coat when Richard Drayton came across church to her.

“Hey, Mary Martha,” he began.

“Screw off,” Marty replied immediately.

Richard Drayton’s eyes went wide. “Wow. Nice mouth.”

“You should talk.” Marty gathered her coat close to her chin.

Richard Drayton shrugged a little. “Well, they are.”

“Leave me alone,” Marty told him, turning away from him.

Deborah put her arm around Marty’s shoulders, pulling her close. The icy glare she shot Richard Drayton told him that she had heard everything. Richard Drayton shrank away a little before heading back to his own parents.

“Are you all right?” Deborah asked.

Marty shook her head a little. “He’s a jerk. He’s always been a jerk.”

“Do you want me to say something to his parents?” Deborah asked.

Marty raised her chin a little. “No. I can take care of this.”

Deborah made a tsk sound with her tongue. “Dean isn’t your personal guard dog, Marty.”

“After--” Marty stopped. No use starting an argument with Deborah in church. “I know, Mama,” she said instead.

“Are you going to his house for dinner?” Deborah asked as they made their way out of church.

“Probably,” Marty replied as she and her mother greeted other churchgoers cheerfully. “Dean’s making lasagne and foccia bread. Did you want to come over too? I’m sure there’s plenty.”

Deborah laughed. “That boy is wasted at an auto parts store. He should be cooking at a real restaurant.”

“I tell him that all the time,” Marty agreed.

Waiting at the car, shivering in the frigid January wind, Deborah and Marty huddled together.

“Don’t you have keys?” Marty whined.

Deborah shook her head. “Your father has them.”

“This is ridiculous,” Marty continued to whine. “I’m freezing.”

There was no sign of James in the church members hurrying out of the building to their waiting cars in the parking lot. Deborah and Marty huddled together and continued to wait.

“Give you a ride, ladies?” a cheerful voice asked.

Dean pulled up next to them, leaning out the driver’s side window.

“What are you doing here?” Marty asked happily.

“Dropping Sam off to meet Ruby,” Dean replied. “C’mon, it’s freezing out.”

“Mr. Weber--” Deborah began.

“Mrs. W., I insist,” Dean said as Marty began to climb in the front seat. “Marts, give your mom the front.”

Deborah wavered for a minute before getting into the warm car offered to her. Dean pulled away, leaving a few, more judgey, church members pursing their lips after them before exchanging knowing glances.

“So. How was church?” Dean asked, looking at his passengers.

“It was fine,” Marty replied.

“Marty wouldn’t know,” Deborah answered. “She was daydreaming the whole service.”

“Was she?” Dean glanced at Marty in his rear view mirror, his green eyes gleaming playfully. “Anything interesting?”

Marty went pink. “No. Shut up.”

Dean laughed, a quiet rumble in his chest. “You need to stop anywhere, Mrs. W.? Grocery store? Anything?”

Deborah seemed surprised. “No, thank you, Dean. But thanks for offering.”

Dean nodded. “Not a problem.”

Deborah and Marty hurried out of Dean’s car and into the house, Marty promising to come over later for dinner.

“You promised dessert!” Dean called after her.

Marty cringed. “Okay!”

“You forgot, didn’t you?” Deborah asked.

“Of course I forgot,” Marty replied as they hung up their coats.

Deborah shook her head, smiling. “Come along. We’ll whip up a cake real quick.”

“I love that you can just ‘whip up a cake real quick,’” Marty commented as she and her mother made their way into the kitchen.

Halfway into a recipe for banana cake with chocolate frosting, the front door banged open.

“Deborah!” James yelled.

Deborah and Marty exchanged sudden, worried glances.

“Oh, dear,” Deborah said, wiping her hands on a towel. She started around the counter as James barged into the kitchen.

“Where were you?” James demanded angrily.

“We got a ride home,” Deborah replied.

“Who from?” James asked, but Marty knew he already knew the answer to that particular question.

“From Dean,” Deborah told him.

“I expect my family to wait for me,” James thundered. Deborah quaked as he raged. “I looked everywhere for you both and you were just gone. Do you know how that made me look?”

“Like a man who left his family shivering next to the car while he smooched butts?” Marty asked.

“ _How dare you, young lady?_ ” James turned his rage Marty’s way. Marty flinched back, knowing she’d gone too far with her sassy mouth. “I don’t know who you think you’re talking to, but you better watch your damn mouth.”

“That’s enough, James,” Deborah raised her voice. “Dean offered us a ride and it was too cold to wait.”

“Then you should have come back inside!”

“Why?” Deborah snapped. “So we could watch you talk to people? Hardly.”

_Slap._ James’ hand was so fast, Deborah and Marty didn’t even see the hit happen. Deborah gasped and clapped her hand over her cheek and mouth.

“You _hit_ her!” Marty yelled. “ _You_ hit _her_!”

James swung at Marty, pointing. “You keep your smart mouth shut.”

“Make me,” Marty challenged.

“That’s it!” James roared. “Everyone in this house needs to learn their place again. No one goes anywhere unless I say so.”

“You can’t confine us to the house, you lunatic!” Deborah exclaimed.

“I can and I will until you and your daughter learn to respect our home again!” James informed her.

“Marty, come. Now.” Deborah snapped her fingers. Marty started a little, but James’ anger was palpable. “ _Now_ , Marty!” Deborah exclaimed.

Deborah clasped Marty’s hand, pulling her down the hallway to the front door. Grabbing purses and coats, Deborah opened the front door as James made his way toward them. Pushing Marty onto the front porch, Deborah turned to see James nearly at her. Slamming the screen door in his face, Deborah caught Marty’s arm in a tight grip, starting for Marty’s truck.

“No!” Marty said suddenly, still trying to fathom what was happening. “Over here.”

Marty scurried across the street, legs shaking, to the Winchesters’ house. James was halfway down the front walk when Mary opened the door at Marty’s insistent banging.

“Hey, sweet--” Mary began, smiling. Catching sight of a furious James, Mary’s smile disappeared immediately and she swung the door open to them. “Get in here,” she said, completely serious.

Slamming the door behind them and locking it, Mary turned to the trembling Weber women. Deborah’s red cheek said everything for them both.

“Come along, girls,” Mary said, her voice firm, leading them into the kitchen.

Dean looked up from where he was layering lasagne pasta in a dish. Dean’s eyes lit up when he saw Marty, but one look from Mary sobered him.

“Dean, ice pack,” Mary ordered.

Brokering no smart remark, Dean brought Deborah an ice pack wrapped in a clean kitchen towel. Faced with kindness and the shock of her situation wearing off, Deborah’s lips began to tremble. Tears spilled over her eyelashes.

“Thank you,” she managed to choke out.

“Drink this.” Mary handed Deborah a small glass.

“I don’t drink alcohol,” Deborah told Mary.

“I’m a nurse,” Mary told her. “It’s medicinal.”

With a shaking hand, Deborah took the shot of brandy, coughing. Dean had his arms around Marty.

“You okay, Ging?” he asked.

“No, I’m not fucking _okay_ ,” Marty spit at him, not caring if her mother heard her curse. “My father hit my mother in the face because we drove home with you.”

“You’re kidding me,” Dean said.

Marty leveled Dean with a glare. “I’m not fucking kidding.”

“Easy, Ginger,” Dean told her.

Marty shook his arm off. “I don’t need another guy telling me what to do today.”

Dean’s eyes flashed, but Marty could see that he held his tongue. Striding across the room to her mother, who was full-on sobbing by then, Marty put her arms around Deborah.

“Mama, I’m sorry,” Marty said.

“It’s not your fault, Marty,” Deborah assured her, taking a deep breath to steady herself. “It’s my fault.”

“How is this your fault?” Marty asked, shocked.

“I should have gone back into the church and waited for your father,” Deborah said, sounding miserable.

“Well, that’s a load of crap,” Marty said.

“I agree,” Mary said, laying her hand on Deborah’s shoulder. “It’s not like you drove home with a serial killer.”

“Daddy’s just being unreasonable,” Marty said, putting her chin on Deborah’s shoulder.

Deborah stood up suddenly, displacing Marty and Mary, Laying the ice pack on the counter, Deborah straightened her shoulders.

“May I use your powder room?” she asked Mary. Stunned, Mary nodded, pointing to the door in the hallway. Deborah inclined her head slightly. “Thank you.”

Once Deborah left the room, Mary turned to Marty.

“You okay, sweetie?” Mary asked.

Marty sighed, making her whole body shake. “No.”

Mary opened her arms and Marty sunk into them. Dean watched silently from across the room while the two women hugged briefly, then locked eyes. An unspoken conversation happened between them, ending when they both nodded. Marty pulled herself upright and tall as Deborah entered the room again, pulling on her coat.

“Mama, what--?” Marty began.

“I’m going home to speak to your father,” Deborah cut her off.

“But, Mama--” Marty tried again.

“Marty, it’s what needs to be done.”

“Don’t you dare apologize to him!” Marty exclaimed.

“Stand your ground,” Dean volunteered.

“Just remember: you can always come back here if something else happens,” Mary said.

Deborah smiled at the Winchesters. “Thank you so much for your kindness.” She turned to Marty. “Coming?”

Marty shook her head. “No. I have nothing to say to him that won’t make it worse.”

Deborah paused, considering this answer. “I can appreciate that.”

Giving Marty a brief hug, Deborah visibly steeled herself and left. Marty and the Winchesters stared after her.

“So that's what a ‘steel magnolia’ is,” Dean commented mildly, breaking the silence in the room.

Marty looked at Dean, incredulous, before starting to laugh.


	35. Chapter 35

Dean walked Marty home a few hours later. She was trembling like a leaf, so she was grateful for the arm around her waist.

“Call me for anything,” Dean was saying. “I’ll be over here in a minute. Sam’ll be over here in a minute. _Mom’ll_ be over here in a minute.”

“I know, Pretty Eyes. Thank you.” Marty’s voice was small.

Dean raised Marty’s face to his and kissed her softly on the mouth before knocking on her front door. The formality of waiting at her own door to be let in gave Marty a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

An eternity later, Deborah opened the heavy wooden door. Her eyes were red, her face blotchy. Marty felt Dean’s body tense behind her, ready for a fight.

“Come in,” Deborah said, moving out of the way. “Both of you.”

“Where’s Daddy?” Marty asked carefully as she and Dean entered the house.

“He went to church to meet Pastor Schneider,” Deborah replied.

“Why?” Dean asked, taking Marty’s coat from her to hang on the coat rack near the front door.

Deborah looked at Dean, smiling wearily. “Because that’s what our men do, Dean. They slap us around, then go to our pastor to be absolved of their sin.”

“That’s bullshit,” Dean spat out, sounding pissed. “You can’t just be forgiven because you talked to some minister. He hit you, Mrs. W. There has to be something more.”

Deborah laid her hand on Dean’s rigid forearm. Marty hadn’t even realized how violently he was trembling from rage or that he’d clenched his large hands into fists. Just a gentle touch from her mother calmed Dean’s nerves.

“Dean,” Deborah said softly. “I can forgive him because I’m a good Christian woman, but understand, I will never-- _never_ \--forget that he raised a hand to me.” Deborah looked up into Dean’s eyes. “Okay?”

Dean nodded, his internal turmoil all over his face. “Okay.”

“Thank you for taking care of Marty tonight.” Deborah put her arm around Marty. “You’re a good man, Dean.”

Dean’s face was drawn and pale from the stress he was obviously struggling with. “Thanks. And, uh, you’re welcome.”

“Go home, Dean.” Deborah took Dean’s elbow and walked him to the door. “We’ll be fine.”

“I told Marty to call me if anything else happens,” Dean told Deborah, his voice dull, confused. He seemed unable to leave.

“I know, darling, and bless you for that.” Deborah gave Dean’s elbow a squeeze.

Shooting a look over Deborah to Marty, Dean looked concerned. “Keep your phone close, okay?”

Marty smiled, trying to relax, but Dean’s palpable anxiety was overwhelming. “Promise.”

Obviously against his better judgement, Dean left. Deborah turned to Marty, who was still standing in the middle of the living room.

“Mama, are you all right?” Marty asked.

Deborah considered her answer for a while before replying, “I think I am.”

“I’ll never forgive him for hitting you,” Marty told her mother.

“You need to forgive him, Marty,” Deborah insisted. “He’s your father. And it’s the right thing to do.”

“The right thing to do is not to hit your wife.” Marty kicked off her shoes and curled up on the couch.

“You should get ready for bed,” Deborah said.

Marty gave her mother a “You must be crazy” look. “I’m not going to bed before he comes home. What if something happens?”

Deborah put her hands on her hips. “You have school in the morning. And I’m a grown woman. I can handle this myself.”

Marty and Deborah stared each other down before Marty, sighing, gave up. Hugging and kissing her mother, Marty headed upstairs. Leaving her door open a crack to listen for her father’s return, Marty undressed for bed.

“Hello, sweetie.” A text from Dean.

_everything ok?_

_yeah. daddy’s still out_

_i know. i’m watching._

_what?_

Marty headed to her window and looked out. Across the street, Dean was sitting at his bedroom window, backlit from his desk lamp and glowing like an angel.

_pretty eyes, you can’t sit there all night_

_yes, i can_

_you need to sleep_

_i’ll sleep in school tomorrow_

_we have a test in english_

_i’ve read old man & the sea 40x. no way i’ll fail. i’m staying up_

Marty’s heart swelled even as she rolled her eyes.

_well, i’m going to bed_

_night, ginger. love you_

_love you too, goofball_

Marty climbed into bed, rolling over to face her door. There was no way she was falling asleep before her father came home.

Low voices jerked Marty awake.

 _Shit!_ Marty scrubbed a hand over her eyes before looking at her alarm clock. 12.36am. How long had she been asleep?

Getting out of bed, Marty crept to her door. Opening it, she leaned into the hallway to eavesdrop.

“--forgive you, James,” Deborah was saying.

“Don said you might say that,” James said.

“Did he also say that looking at you would make me sick to my stomach?” Deborah asked.

Marty’s jaw dropped. Did she really hear her mother say that? James’ stammering means that Deborah obviously caught him off-guard too.

“I don’t want to hear what Don had to say, James,” Deborah went on relentlessly, ignoring her husband’s stuttering reply. “You listen here: Things need to change. I’m tired of worrying about what’s going to make you angry. You need to accept that Marty’s a grown woman who’s going to college in the fall. You need to accept that she’s in love with Dean Winchester. You also need to accept that I’m your partner in this marriage, not your servant.”

“I don’t think you’re my servant, Deborah,” James protested lamely.

“And Marty?”

“Marty is still a child.”

“She’s 18 years old, James,” Deborah said. “The sooner you realize that, the happier you’ll be.”

Marty heard her father sigh audibly. “I don’t know if she should go to college yet.”

“No!” A loud slam made Marty jump. Deborah must have brought her first down on the coffee table. “Don’t you dare! Don’t you _dare_ try and stop Marty from getting her education just because _you’re_ afraid to let her grow up!”

“Stop yelling at me, Deborah,” James’ voice rose in response.

“I will yell,” Deborah told him. “I’m tired of being quiet.”

“I will not tolerate yelling in my house.” James’ voice rumbled threateningly.

“Unless you’re the one doing the yelling?” Marty could _see_ the venom dripping off her mother’s words.

Marty gave Deborah a silent fist pump. _Go, Mama!_

“This all started when that _Dean_ and his family moved in,” James growled.

“No.” Deborah’s voice sounded weary at rehashing this tired, old fight again. “This all started when you tried to stop your family from being a family and tried to turn it into a theocracy.”

“Holy shit, Mama,” Marty gasped then clapped a hand over her mouth. Never in her life had Marty ever thought she’d hear her mother stand up to her father like she was.

“Deborah …” James’ voice trailed off.

“I’m going to bed, James,” Deborah said. It sounded like she stood up followed by the scrambling sound of James getting to his feet too. “I think you need to pray long and hard about if you want to grow with your family or flounder. Alone.”

The sound of Deborah’s feet on the staircase made Marty scrabble backwards into the door frame, knocking her head hard on the door. Deborah was at the top of the steps, catching Marty (now desperately trying to untangle her nightgown from the door knob) out of bed and spying.

“Good night, Marty,” Deborah said evenly as she glided past into her room.

Abashed, Marty ducked her head. “Night, Mama.”

Deborah’s bedroom door shut with a decided click. Marty glanced down the hall to the stairs. The downstairs lights went out a few moments later. James must have retired to his den. Standing in the hallway, nightgown still wrapped around her door knob, Marty tried to absorb everything she heard.

 _Man, shit’s changed a lot the past few months,_ Marty decided before yanking herself free and heading back into bed.

Getting up the next day was nearly impossible. Marty dozed off on the way to school, leaning against the creaking leather of Dean's jacket. She had no intention of rehashing her parents’ discussion on so few hours of sleep, leaving the big news as a topic of conversation for the drive home.

“Marty,” Dean nudged her. “Wake up, Ginger. We’re at school.”

Marty groaned. “Oh, god.”

“Is everything okay?” Dean asked as they walked into school, Marty stumbling over her own feet in exhaustion.

“Yeah. Awesome.” Marty yawned. “This sucks.”

“Why so tired?” Ruby asked.

“I was up late last night.”

“Studying or about Deb and Jim?” Ruby asked, leaning against her locker while Marty aimlessly dug through hers in search of her history book.

“God, I left my history book at home,” Marty groaned. “How do you know about Deb and Jim?”

“Use mine.” Dean handed her his history book.

“I live with the pastor,” Ruby was saying as Marty accepted Dean’s book and kissed him gratefully. “It’s hard to not know what’s going on when your best friend’s dad was at your house until midnight.”

“He came home last night?” Dean asked, sounding annoyed. “Why didn’t you text?”

“Because nothing happened and I wasn’t waking you up for no reason,” Marty replied. “I have to get to class. I’ll tell you everything later. Promise.”

Kissing Dean and Ruby good-bye, Marty headed for first period history. If she made it through the whole day without crashing, it would be a miracle.

“I couldn’t have done worse on that test if you paid me,” Marty groaned as she and Dean left their AP English class. “I don’t think I could have answered ‘What color is your hair?’ right.”

“Really?” Dean asked, shifting his books to his other arm so he could sling an arm around Marty’s neck. “I thought it was easy.”

“Yeah, well, you got a full night’s sleep,” Marty groused.

Dean smirked. “I did. In fact, I slept so well, I don’t even remember what I dreamt about.” Dean’s eyes shone mischievously. “Even though I’m sure I was naked in my dream.”

A few heads swung in Dean’s direction when he said that. Marty glared at the girls from under Dean’s arm. Dean didn’t seem to notice the stir he caused in the hallway.

“Damn.” One of the girls raked her eyes Dean up and down openly. She completely ignored Marty’s dirty look as she leaned against the lockers outside Dean’s next class.

“Okay, see ya.” Marty reached up and kissed Dean hard, trying to get her point across.

Dean broke the kiss, licking his lips, and gave Marty an odd look as he headed into his class. The girl watched Dean walk by, checking him out, before turning back to Marty. She and her friends gave Marty a sarcastic once-over before snickering at her disheveled appearance. The girls followed Dean into the classroom, leaving Marty to tuck her unruly red hair behind her ears and straighten her shirt in a nearly empty hallway.

“Shit,” Marty muttered before trudging to her next class.

Falling into her seat, Marty set up a tower of books and binders high enough to rest her chin on and promptly fell asleep before class even started. Next to her, Ruby ran interference with the teacher, stopping him from calling on his favorite students, namely Marty.

“Yo.”

Marty jerked herself awake.

“What?”

“C’mon, Sleeping Beauty, school’s over.” Ruby helped Marty to her feet. “Let’s get you home before you pass out again.”

“Okay,” Marty agreed groggily, gathering up her books and shoving them into her backpack.

Leaning on each other, Ruby and Marty headed back toward Dean’s class to grab him on the way out. Ruby was trying to make Marty laugh, and doing a pretty good job of it, when Ruby stopped abruptly.

“What?” Marty asked, still giggling.

“Uh … Marty?” Ruby pointed.

Marty followed Ruby’s finger down the hallway and nearly choked on her gum. The mean girl who checked Dean out was pressed against the lockers outside her classroom, with Dean hovering over her. He had one hand on the lockers above her head, leaning in close to talk to her in a low voice. Marty watched as Dean’s lips curled into one of those slow, sexy smiles that made her heart melt.

“What is he doing?” Marty whispered.

“Flirting,” Ruby replied. “And well.”

Marty and Ruby watched as the girl licked her lips and gazed up at Dean through her eyelashes. Marty didn’t even notice as 3/4s of the student body pushed past her, bumping her rudely, on their way out of school. All she saw was Dean reach down and brush the other girl’s hair off her forehead. It was like he was moving in slow motion or underwater.

“Oh, fuck this shit.” Ruby grabbed Marty’s arm, yanking her off her feet as she pulled Marty toward them.

“Ruby, no,” Marty protested weakly.

As they neared Dean and the other girl, Ruby sped up, dragging Marty like dead weight. Once they were close enough, Ruby swung Marty at Dean with all her strength. Marty was launched at Dean’s back like a missile and she slammed into him, and in essence, slammed Dean into the other girl, whose head ricocheted off the locker behind her.

“What the fuck?” the girl shouted, outraged.

Dean spun around to see who slammed into him and took a step back when he saw it was Marty. Marty’s face crumpled as she stared up at him.

“You asshole,” she whispered.

“Marty--” Dean began.

“No.” Marty took a step back. “Don’t bother. Don’t even fucking bother.”

“Hang on. Ginger--” Dean reached out to grab Marty’s arm.

Jerking away from him, Marty gave Dean a glare that stopped him in his tracks.

“Don’t bother,” she spit out.

Marty pushed her way into the scrum of students around her with Ruby at her heels and they were both gone.


	36. Chapter 36

“What did you do?” Sam demanded as Dean got in the car without the girls.

“What?” Dean muttered.

“Ruby and Marty just got into someone else’s car,” Sam answered. “What did you do?”

“Why is it my fault?” Dean asked, turning the car toward home.

“Because it is!” Sam replied angrily. “Why did my girlfriend ignore me and get into another car and drive away?”

“Because Marty and I are fighting,” Dean told him quietly.

Sam opened his mouth to make some kind of furious retort, but the look on Dean’s face stilled him. Sam had only seen Dean look that upset twice in his entire life. This time made three.

“Okay,” Sam said softly. “Okay.” Sam nodded, looking out his window. “Well, we’ll figure it out, right?” Sam turned to his brother. “Right, Dean?”

Dean swallowed hard. He could feel tears rising up his throat, threatening strangle him and to spill over his lashes. But he had to answer Sam. He had to reassure Sam. Sam needed to be taken care of. Dean cleared his throat.

“Yeah, Sammy,” he said roughly. “Yeah. We’ll figure it all out.”

Mary knew something was terribly amiss as soon as she walked into the house. It was quiet, dim, and there was no dinner cooking away merrily while Sam did his homework at the breakfast bar and Dean read his textbooks while simultaneously chopped or diced or sliced.

“Dean? Sam?” she called into the seemingly empty house, dropping her purse on the breakfast bar.

“Hey, Mom,” said a voice behind her.

Mary leaped a foot and spun around, her hand in her jacket pocket, grabbing at her small gun. Sam stood glumly, holding his phone. Mary let go of her gun, her heart thudding in her ears.

“Hi, baby. Are you okay?” Thank Jesus her voice sounded normal.

Sam shrugged. “I guess.”

“What’s happened?” Mary tried to stay calm. “Where’s Dean?”

“He’s upstairs, listening to _Ramble On_ on a constant loop.”

Mary looked upstairs. “Oh, no. That’s not good. What brought this on?”

Sam looked sadly at his phone, then up at him mother. “He and Marty are fighting.”

“Wait. This is over Marty?” Mary felt relief flood her body. She put both hands on the breakfast bar and leaned on it. “Oh, thank god. I thought it was something--” she stopped herself “--else.”

“You were going to say important,” Sam said, sounding a little accusatory.

“Sam,” Mary said wearily, “our family has been through enough that one little fight between two teenagers isn’t enough to be warranted as ‘important.’”

“Are you doing to say something to him?” Sam glanced at the ceiling.

“After I make dinner,” Mary said, taking off her coat.

“We have plenty of leftovers,” Sam said. “Go help Dean.”

Mary turned and looked at Sam. The determined glare on his face broke Mary’s heart.

“Okay, baby, okay,” Mary said softly. She touched his shoulder gently as she walked by.

Dean was sprawled across his bed, long legs hanging over the edge. Maybe he was just feeling sorry for himself, but he was sure he could smell Marty’s body spray on his quilt. Dean reached over on the bed and felt under his pillow. Soft t-shirt material brushed against his fingers. Pulling the shirt out, Dean rolled his eyes. This artfully faded and ragged Cookie Monster shirt was definitely _not_ his. No wonder he smelled Marty all over his bed. Tucking the shirt back under his pillow, Dean rolled over onto his stomach.

“This sucks,” he muttered.

“Dean?” Tap-tap-tap. “Angel, let me in.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Dean replied. “No can do.”

“I just want to talk.” Mary’s voice sounded annoyed.

“Well, I don’t want to talk.”

Mary sighed. “Fine. Come downstairs when you’re ready.”

Dean sat up, listening to Mary walk away. Did that really happen? Did Mary just walk away without fighting harder to have a mother-to-son chat? That never happened. Never. Confused, Dean went to his door and opened it. The sounds of Mary and Sam talking, moving around, the microwave beeping, the smell of food wafted up the stairs to him. They were living, going on with their evening, while Dean was pining away to nothingness.

“What the hell?” Dean growled, heading down the hallway. He thumped down the stairs and into the kitchen. Mary and Sam were sitting at the counter, eating leftovers and talking. “What the hell?” he demanded.

Mary and Sam looked up, surprised. Mary got up.

“Dinner?” she asked.

Dean just stared at her. “No, I don’t want _dinner_ ,” he snapped. “I want--”

“Attention?” Sam asked.

“Shut up, Sam,” Dean lashed out.

“That’s uncalled for.” Mary’s voice was sharp, shutting them both up. “I understand you and Marty are fighting, but there’s no need for you to lose it with Sam and me. Now. Dinner?”

Dean scowled at his mother and flopped down at the breakfast bar. “Fine.”

Mary passed a plate to Dean, who tucked in grumpily.

“Do you want to--” Mary began.

“No.” Dean stabbed the chicken on his plate with unnecessary force.

“Okay, then.” Mary and Sam exchanged a look.

This new behavior didn’t look good on Dean. Mary felt a gnawing anxiety growing in her belly. The glower, the anger, the hunched shoulders. All of it screamed ‘John Winchester.’ Mary turned away from her sons, gripping the sink for support, praying her boys didn’t see her white knuckles. Dean put his plate in the sink, touching Mary on the shoulder to let her know he was right there, and she jerked away from him.

“Mom, what--?” Dean began. Mary’s face was obviously scared, wide-eyed. Dean’s stomach dropped. “No. Mom, no. I’m not--I’m fine. I’m just upset.”

“I know, angel.” But Mary’s voice was shaking.

Dean felt a surge of anger. There was no reason for Mary to react like she was. He was no John Winchester. He was going to kick the shit out of his family just because he was angry about something stupid. But Dean kept his face impassive, but the anger he was feeling over the whole situation with _that girl_ and Marty and his mom now thinking that he was going to flip his shit.

“I’m going to bed,” Dean grumbled and headed upstairs.

The next morning and the next and the next and the next were awful. Watching Marty get into her truck, the truck Dean gave her, and drive away to pick up Ruby for school sucked enough. Shared classes were now silent battlegrounds. But this wasn’t like the last time Marty froze him out. Last time, that silent treatment was fueled by anger. This one was fueled by betrayal. His betrayal.

A routine meeting with his guidance counselor brought a new wrinkle into Dean’s life.The Friday before his birthday, Dean found himself in his guidance counselor’s office. She had handed him a handful of college brochures.

“What am I supposed to do with these?” Dean asked.

“Have you given college any consideration?” Mrs. Towers, his counselor, asked.

Dean snorted. Mrs. Towers just watched as Dean shuffled through the brochures.

“Honestly, no. College isn’t for me.” Dean leaned forward and dropped the pamphlets on her desk.

Mrs. Towers flipped a page or two in Dean’s file. Dean craned his neck to get a look, but the print was too small and he couldn’t read upside down.

“”It says here that you’re active in the auto shop.” Mrs. Towers looked up at Dean from the paper. “Is that something you’d be doing interested in doing after graduation?”

Dean shrugged. “I dunno.”

Mrs. Towers leaned back in her chair. “Well, what else are you interested in, Dean?”

Dean bit the inside of his lips. It took him a while to answer.

“I guess I like to cook,” he finally said.

“Would that be something you’d like to pursue?” Mrs. Towers asked.

Dean shrugged again. Mrs. Towers let out a long sigh.

“Dean, I understand if you don’t want to have this conversation, but you’re a senior and your life is about to begin.”

Dean’s jerked his head up. The blaze in his eyes made Mrs. Towers recoil a little.

“My life hasn’t stopped since I was 5 years old,” he said quietly.

Mrs. Towers didn’t have a chance to wonder what that could possibly mean before Dean stood up.

“Do you have something about cooking school?” Dean held his hand out.

Mrs. Towers dug through a drawer for a certain file and handed a brochure to Dean, who shoved it into one of his notebooks without looking at it.

“Thanks,” he said and left the office.

Mrs. Towers followed Dean, stopping in the doorway of her office. The guidance counselors' secretary, who had watched Dean leave with more interest than was really professional, then turned to Mrs. Towers. The two women shrugged at each other before Mrs. Towers called the next student in.

In his next class, Dean thumbed through the pamphlet that Mrs. Towers had given him. It was from the Culinary Institute of America, or the CIA (Dean chuckled). The brochure was for campus in San Antonio. Dean knew, from Food Network, that there were also campuses in New York and California, but the idea of going so far from home wouldn’t be an option. Just being in  San Antonio was too far from Mom and Sam. What if they needed him? What if something happened? What if--

“Dean? You with us here?” his teacher asked, tapping a marker against the whiteboard.

“What? Yeah.” Dean jammed the brochure into his book, forcing himself to pay attention.

The CIA pamphlet was completely forgotten as Dean went through the rest of his day. His last class was the one with _that girl_ (Dean honestly couldn’t remember her name. Tara? Tyra? Tina? Something with a ‘T.’), so he skipped it to avoid having her shoot bedroom eyes at him for 45 minutes. Taking refuge in the library, Dean hunched over one of the computers, bringing up the CIA website. Just reading the prerequisites made Dean curse.

“Shit,” he muttered.

The school required 6 months working in a non-fast food establishment with a professional kitchen or by completing cooking classes at either the high school or college level before enrolling. It was January. That meant he needed to get a job in a real restaurant right away. He was still going to miss the May enrollment date because graduation wasn’t until May 25th, the day before the last day of school, and he wouldn’t have completed his working requirement. But he could still make the September enrollment. But first he had to get a cooking job, then work there for 6 months, then apply to the school, then wait to be accepted, then leave his family for San Antonio for 21 months for his associate’s degree, then maybe go to New York for his junior and senior years for 17 months for his bachelor’s degree, and then that’s 38 months of his life nowhere near his family (or Marty) except on holiday breaks.

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean muttered again, running a hand through his hair in frustration. This sucked. Maybe he should just be a mechanic.

 _NO_ , a voice in Dean’s head suddenly exclaimed. _You’re too good for that._

The final bell rang, prompting Dean to lumber from his seat and toward the door of the library.

“It’s a good school,” a voice behind him said suddenly.

Dean turned. Behind him stood the school librarian, a 40ish woman with her hair pulled back in a clip. She looked up at him from her perch behind the library counter.

“The Culinary Institute of America,” the librarian said. “It’s a good school.”

Dean bristled at having his actions watched. “You saw me?”

“Of course I saw you,” the librarian smiled. “The computers are positioned just so I can see all the screens. Can’t have you students on Tumblr when you should be researching.”

Dean was unsure of what Tumblr was, but let it go. “What about the CIA?” he asked.

“My cousin went there--the one in New York, actually,” the librarian replied. “Now she works at a little place in the city.”

Dean’s curiosity got the best of him. “What ‘little place’?” 

The librarian grinned. “Balthazar.”

“Balthazar? Really?” Dean couldn’t hide his surprise.

“You’ve heard of it?”

Dean reined his foodie-nerdism back into check. “Yeah. Well. My mom watches a lot of cooking shows.”

The librarian smirked. “Your mom? Okay. Well, consider it, at least. You don’t want to live here all your life.”

“Why not?” Dean asked. “You do.”

“True.” The librarian nodded. “But no one told me I could leave when I your age.”

Dean and the librarian stared at each other for a few seconds before Dean nodded and headed out to his car. First order of business after he dropped Sam off at work? Go find a restaurant job.


	37. Chapter 37

At the buttcrack of dawn on his birthday, Dean left his house for work. Everyone in his house was still asleep and, judging by the dark windows at Marty’s, no one was awake over there wither. Dean hunched deeper into his leather jacket as he waited for his car to warm up. Long gone were the days when Marty would meet him with a travel mug of hot coffee before he went to open the store.

Grumbling, Dean drove to work. Not only was he working on his birthday, it didn’t seem like it was going to be a great day anyway. His search for a cooking job hit a dead end yesterday. No one had time to talk to a green cooking rookie right before dinner on a Friday night, so Dean stopped looking. He had every intention of starting up his search again, but not until Monday when the weekend rush of diners had stopped.

Mary and Sam assured him that they had something planned for him, but the last thing he wanted was another birthday with his mom and brother. What Dean wanted was a party. A real party, like the ones in Chicago, with beer and girls and loud music and beer pong. Making up his mind, Dean shot a text over to Benny, who he knew was still asleep.

_dude. text me when you get this_

And so the day began. The morning crawled by with the usual amount of shoppers coming in to buy new windshield wipers and anti-freeze and wiper fluid. No one prepared for the winters right, in Dean’s opinion as he sold wipers to a woman, who was on the phone the whole time, bitching that this was the third pair of wipers she’d bought since the cold snap in November.

“They keep freezing to the window!” she whined into her phone.

“So don’t leave them laying on the window overnight,” Dean muttered as he passed her the bag.

“What?” she snapped at him.

“Have a nice day.” Dean smiled.

“Yeah.” The woman snatched her bag and left.

“This day sucks,” Dean commented to his coworker, who nodded in agreement.

“Dude, where’s my car?” Ashton Kutcher asked from his pocket.

Dean dug his phone out. Benny had replied to his text.

_wut_

Dean cringed at Benny’s spelling. Text or not, it was horrible.

_what’re you doin tonight?_

_nothin. why_

_because i need to party._

_kickass. be here at 8. my dad’s working overnight_

Dean grinned.

_i’ll bring beer_

_damn right you will, winchester_

Dean shoved his phone in his pocket and turned to his coworker.

“Bob? Can you get me a Coors Light 30 pack?” he asked.

His coworker considered his answer before nodding and shrugging. Dean handed over the money easily, grinning a little. Oh, yeah. A party was just what he needed.

Benny’s dad worked the graveyard shift every weekend, making Benny’s house the go-to place for partying, random hook-ups, and general teenage debauchery. When Dean arrived with his 30-pack in tow, there was already about 5 guys there. The music was loud, the air was smokey, and Dean was pretty sure the X-Box was going to be flung across the room by the end of the night, judging by the argument about how shitty everyone was playing.

“Brother! Welcome.” Benny threw a meaty arm over Dean’s shoulder. “Can’t believe you’ve never been here before.”

“Yeah, well. The girlfriend,” Dean replied.

Benny flicked cigarette ash onto the floor carelessly. “Fucking chicks, man. Put your beer in the coolers.”

“The--what?” Dean asked. Around the living room on the floor were about 6 huge coolers, brimming with ice and other people’s beer. “No fridge?”

Benny laughed. “No room in the fridge. Too much rotten food and beer.”

Dean grinned. This was a great dude house.

Hours later, Dean had a decent buzz on and he was screaming at the TV while playing Black Ops II with three other guys. He’d long since ignored his phone, which almost constantly alerted him that Mary and Sam had been waiting for him, then gave up waiting for him. He was 19 now; there was no way he was spending his 19th birthday with his mommy and his baby brother.

“Oh, Dean,” Marty’s voice suddenly breathed.

Dean froze. Marty’s text alert? She was texting him.

“Here, take this.” Dean shoved his controller into another guy’s hands and stumbled away to check his phone.

_happy birthday, pretty eyes_

Dean blinked blurrily. Holy shit. It was Marty. She was texting him. Dean squinted, trying to focus on the tiny keys on his phone.

_thanx_

_are you out with your mom and sam?_

_no_

_where are you?_

_party_

_oh. where?_

Dean considered this, seriously. Should he tell her? Fuck it. Tell her. It’s not like she was invited to Benny’s.

_bennys. dudes n brews_

_oh. well, happy bday_

_yea sure like you care_

_are you drunk?_

_r u?_

Marty took so long to answer, Dean was putting his phone back in his pocket when he heard his alert again.

_miss you_

_then stop bein a bitch_

_FUCK YOU DEAN_

And that was the end of the conversation. Dean was pretty sure that wasn’t what he was supposed to say to Marty, but the 8 beers in his system reassured him that she deserved it for being such a bitch, so fuck it, he said it.

“Back, bitches,” Dean roared, taking his controller back and dropping onto the filthy couch next to Benny to continue their game. He grabbed another beer from the cooler next to him, downing half of it in one go.

Sunday morning dawned with a hangover that nearly blinded Dean when he tried to open his eyes. On the couch with the controller between his thighs and a wet spot of warm beer on his soaking into his jeans, Dean’s mouth felt like the dirty couch he was sitting on.

“Holy shit,” he muttered, rolling his tongue to moisten his lips.

“Morning,” a gruff voice said.

Dean turned his head. An older man stood in the midst of the teenage boy carnage, wearing a grey work shirt and navy blue work pants, drinking a cup of coffee.

“Uh … hey,” Dean croaked out.

“Coffee?” the man asked.

“Water?” Dean replied.

The older man snorted. “Sure.”

Dean stumbled over a body at his feet, wiping at the huge wet stain on the back of his leg. The older guy handed Dean a plastic UK cup of warm water.

“Good party last night?” he asked.

Dean took a small sip from the cup. “Yeah. Guess so.”

“You’re new,” the guy said next.

“Yeah. Dean.” Dean held his hand out to shake.

The guy gave it a short shake. “Bill. Benny’s dad.”

“Sorry about the mess,” Dean said immediately.

Bill shrugged. “Fuck it. I’ve seen worse.”

Dean drank his water, feeling incredibly uncomfortable. Benny’s dad leaned against the counter, reading the paper and ignoring Dean. When his cup was empty, Dean shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

“I’m gonna--uh--go,” he said awkwardly. “Tell Benny bye for me?”

Bill shrugged again, not looking up from his sports page. The cold January air hit Dean like a ton of bricks. Gasping in the frigid wind, Dean stumbled, pausing to hold onto another car and throw up all the water he chugged in the driveway. Driving home was a nightmare. The smell coming off him of body odor, stale cigarette smoke, and hot beer made Dean nauseated, but he refused to puke in the car. He was no wimp. He could make it home.

Yeah, barely.

Once in his driveway, Dean made it to the porch before throwing up again, this time in the flowerbed by the front door. The door swung open, revealing a white-faced Mary Winchester.

“Where have you been?!” she demanded in a shrilly voice.

Dean stood up, wiping his mouth. “Jesus Christ, Ma.”

“Get in the house! Are you drunk?” Mary grabbed Dean and yanked him in the door. Holding him by both arms, she shook him roughly. “What were you thinking?” she exclaimed. “I had no idea where you where! I was so worried. I didn’t call the cops because Marty called me to tell me you were at a party.”

Dean blinked, his head being clobbered under the effects of Mary’s voice. He was only getting about ¼ of what she was saying, but he definitely heard Marty’s name.

“Marty?” he managed to grunt.

Mary let go of him, crossing her arms over her chest. “Yes. Marty. She called me around 10.30 last night to tell me you were completely shit-faced at Benny’s house.”

Dean screwed his face up. Blinking hurt. _Thinking_ hurt. This was altogether too much information to process in his condition.

“Go to bed,” Mary said, sounding exhausted. “Sleep it off. And, for gods’ sake, shower first.”

A blast of hot water on Dean’s face hurt just as much as thinking did, but he endured it because the stink of his own body was making him sicker than any amount of beer could. Once he felt like he’d washed off enough of Benny’s house to feel like himself again, Dean headed into his room to bed.

“Hello, beautiful,” he moaned as he hit the mattress. Curling up, Dean pulled the blanket up over his head. “No more drinking,” he promised as his eyes started to close.

“Oh, Dean.”

Dean shot up off his pillow like he was launched out of a cannon. Digging through the disgusting pile of clothes on his floor, he pulled his phone out.

_sober yet?_

Dean’s heart contracted. Marty. She was talking to him.

_sorta_

_have fun?_

_yeah, i guess_

_you called me a bitch_

_i know. sorry_

_i didn’t do anything wrong_

_i know._

_this is the part when you say sorry again_

Dean grinned. There she was. There was his girl.

_sorry, ginger._

_i’m still mad at you_

_you should be_

_why, dean?_

_dunno._

_that’s not a good enough answer_

_i know. i dont know why i did it_

Dean waited. There wasn’t any excuse for him flirting with that girl (tara? tyra? tina? fuck. like it really mattered).

_don’t do it again._

_never. never again. i swear._

_good. i’ll be over after church._

_you’re coming over?_

_yeah, i have a present for you._

Dean felt like someone punched him in the chest. Marty still bought his a present, even though they were fighting. Play it cool, Winchester.

_okay, ging. i need sleep anyway_

_see you then_

Dean put his phone on his nightstand and rolled onto his back, his arms behind his head. So, Marty forgave him. After all that time, she’d come around. Shit was looking up.

A three hour nap did wonders for Dean’s hangover, but nothing for Dean’s looks. Stumbling downstairs, he was pale and slightly green with dark circles under his eyes and red eyes from puking so hard.

“You look like shit,” Sam commented as Dean helped himself to four hour old coffee.

“That’s sludge by now, Dean,” Mary said, looking up from her laptop.

“Don’t care. Need caffeine.” Dean gulped down half the cup. “God. That’s awful.”

As Dean made a fresh pot of coffee, he could feel two pairs of eyes watching his back. He knew Mary and Sam were waiting for some kind of explanation, and he knew he had to give one, but the truth (“I really didn’t want to go out to dinner with you guys for my 19th birthday.”) was a little harsh.

Mary cleared her throat. “Anything you want to say to us?”

Dean hunched his shoulders, turning slowly. Mary’s blue eyes bore into him like drill bits. And she waited. Expectantly.

“Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Sam,” he mumbled, looking at the toes of his socks.

“Well, that was pathetic,” Sam said suddenly.

“What?” Dean asked, surprised.

“My god, _so_ pathetic,” Mary agreed.

“What?” Dean asked again.

“‘Sorry, Mom. Sorry, Sam,’” Sam mimicked Dean. “What a loser.”

“I don’t know, Sam. ‘Loser’ is sort of abrasive,” Mary chided her younger son. “Let’s just stick with ‘pathetic.’”

“Yeah, pathetic _loser_ ,” Sam agreed.

“What?” Dean looked back and forth between his mother and brother.

Mary and Sam both laughed at Dean’s shocked face. Dean, finally realizing that they were messing with him, relaxed.

“You need to learn to call,” Mary told Dean.

“Please call,” Sam insisted. “Do you know how hard it was dealing with her last night?”

“Samuel,” Mary warned.

“Sorry, guys,” Dean repeated.

Knocking at the door made Dean start. Mary and Sam exchanged a knowing glance.

“That’s for you,” Mary told Dean unnecessarily.

Dean put his coffee mug down, exhaling. Running a hand over his bedhead and suddenly aware he desperately needed to brush his teeth, Dean made his way down the hall to the front door. One more huge sigh before he opened it.

“Hey, Ginger,” Dean greeted the girl on the other side of the screen.


	38. Chapter 38

Marty looked up at Dean. He looked terrible. Sort of like he spent all night drinking and playing video games.

“You gonna let me in?” she asked.

Dean shook his head a little and opened the door for her. Walking past Dean, Marty caught a whiff of soap, morning breath, and coffee, but underlying that was the warm, sexy scent of _Dean_.

 _Focus. You’re still mad,_ Marty’s brain reminded her.

“Hang on, I--I need to go brush my teeth.” Dean headed upstairs swiftly.

“Hey, Marty,” Mary called from the living room.

Marty headed into the living room, throwing her coat over one of the stools. Mary and Sam were on the couch, Mary on her laptop, Sam watching college basketball with considerably little enthusiasm.

“I hate basketball,” Sam muttered to no one.

“So, turn off the television and do that homework I know you have,” Mary suggested lightly without looking up from her keyboard.

Sam’s ears went red. “How did--?”

“Sam, please.” Mary sighed. “I’m your mother. I know all, I see all.”

“Yeah, right.” Sam clicked off the TV and stomped out of the room.

Marty hesitated. Mary glanced up at her over her reading glasses.

“Marty, sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

Marty made a move to join Mary on the couch, but Dean re-entered the room. He’d changed his t-shirt, but he still looked like he’d been hit by a truck. Suddenly unsure of how she should act, Marty shifted nervously from one foot to the other. Dean shoved his hands in his pockets and shuffled his feet. Mary sighed.

“Well, I guess I’ll be in the other room,” she said, snapping her laptop closed and standing up.

Marty and Dean watched at Mary left the room, then they stared at each other.

“Want to--uh--sit?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Marty’s voice came out as a hoarse whisper.

On complete opposite ends of the couch, Marty looked at Dean. He seemed sick and unhappy and Marty felt a little thrill dance up her spine at his misery. He should feel and look terrible. He’d been caught obviously flirting and then spent the night before obviously getting drunk. Dean Winchester, Marty decided, didn’t have the right to be cheerful.

“Ginger, about that girl--” Dean began.

“I don’t want to hear it,” Marty replied immediately.

“No, I need to tell you,” Dean insisted.

“I _don’t_ want to _know,_ ” Marty snapped.

Dean’s green eyes flared. “Fine. It didn’t have anything to do with you anyway.”

Marty snorted. “Well, _that’s_ a lie.”

Dean shrugged with one shoulder negligently. “Unless you listen, you’ll never know the truth.”

Marty turned to Dean abruptly, glared. “So. Tell me.”

Dean was caught off-guard. “Oh--uh--”

“I knew you didn’t have a reason,” Marty said. “You’re just a guy.”

“You think that’s my reason?” Dean asked, his voice low, barely controlling his anger. “Because I’m a guy.”

“That’s the only reason I can think of,” Marty said sarcastically.

“Your dad slapping your mom reminded me of my own asshole father,” Dean burst out, his fury bubbling over. His voice shook as hard as his hands. Marty saw Dean clench them between his knees, but not before she saw how bad they were trembling. “My dad beat the shit out of Mom and me and now he’s out of the picture because of it. And just seeing how bad it was between your parents reminded me of him and I needed--I needed--” Dean closed his eyes briefly, set his jaw, then looked Marty right in the face. “I needed to forget all about you and me and your parents and my parents. And flirting with that skank gave me that.”

Marty felt like someone had punched her in the stomach. So, that was the story of Dean’s dad. He had abused them. Obviously bad enough that Mary and the boys had left him behind and ran away. It didn’t excuse what Dean did, but Marty knew that she couldn’t hold a grudge against Dean forever. Not over flirting.

“I’m still unhappy with … what you did,” Marty said slowly, trying to collect the right words. “But I can’t … _hate_ you over … over it.” Marty looked up from the couch’s pattern to Dean’s face. “You want to talk about--it?”

“It what?” Dean asked. “It the flirting or it my dad?”  
  
“Your dad,” Marty replied immediately.

Dean laughed harshly. “Not hardly.”

Marty licked her very dry lips and wished she hadn’t heard that laugh. It was an awful sound. A dry, brittle noise that came deep from Dean’s soul.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly.

“Yeah,” Dean grunted. “Me too.”

Mart paused, unsure of where the conversation was going. Who was sorry and why? Was she sorry about Dean’s dad? Was Dean sorry about his dad? Was Marty sorry her family pushed Dean away and toward that girl? Was Dean sorry about flirting? It was getting very confusing and backwards.

“Dean,” Marty began. Dean back at her, catching her off-guard with the deep hurt and pain in his eyes. “Are you all right?”

Dean shook his head slowly. “Nah. I’m not, Ginger.”

Marty shifted on the couch. “You want me to leave?”

Dean shook his head again, just as slow. “No.”

“Can I … ?” Marty gestured between the two of them with one finger.

“Only if you want to, Marts,” Dean replied. “I wouldn’t forgive me if I were you.”

Marty gnawed her bottom lip for a second. She sighed deeply and moved across the couch toward Dean, who watched her come with a rather apprehensive look on his face. Marty opened her arms, wrapped them around Dean, and pulled him toward her. She pushed his head onto her shoulder and kissed his forehead.

“Glad you’re not me then,” she whispered.

Dean’s body was stiff against hers, but Marty held onto him. It took a few minutes but Marty felt Dean relax in her arms.

“I’m sorry, Ginger,” he murmured against her neck.

“I know you are, Pretty Eyes,” Marty murmured back.

“I won’t do it again,” Dean promised.

“You better not,” Marty warned lightly.

“Forgive me?”

“I think I already said I did, didn’t I?”

Dean’s arms wrapped themselves around Marty’s waist, pulling her closer to him. Marty threw her legs over Dean’s and they stayed like that for a while, curled up around each other. Marty rested her head against Dean, enjoying the way they inhaled and exhaled at the same time. It was sweet and tender. She could easily stay like that for days.

Dean’s lips moved against Marty’s throat suddenly, catching her off-guard. Marty squeezed her eyes closed as Dean’s mouth opened and closed on her skin. The tip of his tongue joined the teasing, tasting her skin.

“Dean, stop it,” Marty whispered, feeling her face flush hotly. “Your mom--”

“Shhh, Ginger,” Dean breathed. “Just enjoy it.”

Marty pressed her lips together to suppress the whimper that threatened to escape. Mary was only a room away, but Dean didn’t seem to care as he kissed her neck, his fingers finding miniscule openings in her clothes to wiggle into. It was when his hand slid under the hem of her skirt that Marty gave herself over to his teasings.

Dean pushed her panties out of the way and slipped easily between her folds. Holding her lips open slightly with his index and ring fingers, Dean rolled his middle finger over her clit. Marty squished her eyes shut, biting the inside of her lips to keep from crying out. She could feel how hard his cock was getting under her thigh, but he didn’t stop moving his finger.

Marty mashed her lips to Dean’s, trying desperately to stop from moaning by kissing him. It didn’t help. Her breath came harder as Dean flicked her clit back and forth faster. When Marty finally did cum, Dean’s fingers slipped inside her as easily as a hot knife through butter, working her toward another orgasm with no effort.

“I missed you, Ginger,” Dean told her in a normal tone of voice as if she wasn't cumming all over his hand.

“I missed--” Marty began, her voice more high pitched than usual. She cleared her throat and tried again, “I missed you too.”

Dean pulled his hand out of her panties. He put her skirt to right, then ran his tongue over his fingers, tasting her slick wetness. Marty watched as Dean’s tongue rolled over and over his fingers, even after she knew that they were licked clean.

“You’re wicked, Dean Winchester,” Marty told him huskily.

“You know you missed me,” Dean replied.

Marty lips trembled. She couldn’t even answer him. Anything she said would come out sounding trite and contrived.

Dean made a smacking sound with his mouth. “Yum.”

Marty shook her head, flabbergasted at his actions and her reaction. “I can’t believe you.”

Dean shrugged a little. “I wanted to show you how sorry I was.”

“I can barely think right now,” Marty whispered, beginning to giggle.

Dean grinned. “I love you right after you cum. You’re so sexy.”

After a few minutes, Marty knew it was time to move out of Dean’s embrace before she did something really untoward. Like, ya know, reach into his pants to stroke him until he exploded. More time for that another time.

“You want your birthday present?” she asked.

Dean’s green eyes sparkled. “Didn’t I already get it?”

“No, wicked,” Marty shot back. Untangling herself from his embrace, Marty fetched a long envelope from her coat pocket. “Here.”

Dean took the envelope from her and opened it, looking curious. It contained a pair of tickets.

“What’s this?” Dean asked.

“Read them, doofus,” Marty replied, standing in front of him, her hands locked behind her back, rocking back and forth from her toes to her heels.

“The Who? Joan Jett and the Blackhearts?” Dean jerked his head up to gaze, open-mouthed, as his very pleased-looking girlfriend. “Are you fucking kidding me here?”

Marty grinned, looking like the cat that got at the cream. “Nope.”

“Holy shit, Ginger.” Dean shook his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“If you don’t like them, I can always go with Ruby.” Marty couldn’t stop grinning.

Dean clambered to his feet, catching Marty up in a tight hug. “Like hell you will.”

Marty laughed, delightedly. Dean kissed her, cutting her off.

“You shouldn’t spend money like this,” Dean told her when their kiss broke.

“Oh, shut your face,” Marty sassed. “You only turn 19 once in your life.”

Dean grinned. “True. The repeat birthday seems to be any _other_ birthday that ends in 9. Right, Mom?”

Dean turned and looked at Mary, who was standing in the doorway of the kitchen, watching the duo embrace.

“Hush, angel,” she said. Mary smiled at them. “I’m glad to see you’ve made up. Marty? Stay for dinner?”

Marty glanced up at Dean, then back at his mother. “Yeah. Please.”


	39. Chapter 39

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blatant stealing of dialogue from the show in this chapter, mostly because it cracked me up the first time I heard it and sounds like something a 19-year-old guy would say.

“I don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day,” Marty told Dean.

Dean stared at her. “What the hell kind of girl are you that you don’t celebrate Valentine’s Day?” he asked. “Wait. Is it a Christian thing?”

Marty laughed a little, shaking her head. The cafeteria throbbed with life around them. Ruby and Sam shared a plate of fries while Gabriel and Benny debated the merits of MOPAR vs Chevy with random baseball team members and auto shop guys chiming in their opinions. People walked by, greeting the friends, hoping to be invited to sit down and join in. The Winchester Boys’ Lunch Table was really the place to be.

“I don’t get it,” Dean continued. He turned to Ruby. “Has she always been like this?”

Ruby nodded. “Yeah. Ever since we left grade school. She wants nothing to do with V-Day.”

Dean turned back to Marty, who was munching popcorn nonchalantly like her boyfriend and her best friend weren’t discussing her like she wasn’t there. Marty smiled at the perplexed look on Dean’s face. She sighed.

“Look. Will you love me on the 13th?” she asked.

“Yeah,” Dean said.

“And will you love me on the 15th?” Marty continued.

“Sure.”

“Then why do you have to spend $100 on roses on the 14th to prove it,” Marty told him.

“That’s probably the most sane thing I’ve ever heard,” Dean agreed. “Benny, you hear this?”

“What, brother?” Benny asked, glancing over.

“Marty thinks Valentine’s Day is a waste of time and money,” Dean told him.

Benny considered this. “May be,” he said, nodding. “But, I gotta say: some men need that promptin’ to be a good boyfriend.”

Dean scoffed. “I don’t.”

“Yeah, you’re Romeo,” Gabriel snorted.

“God, I hope not,” Marty said. “He killed himself.”

“Dude!” Gabriel clapped his hand over his ears. “Spoilers.”

Ruby rolled her eyes. “Gabe, the play’s like 400 years old--"

"418 years old," Sam chimed in promptly.

"Plus, we read it freshman year,” Ruby finished, poking Sam in the side playfully.

The bell rang, ending lunch, the V-Day conversation, and the MOPAR/Chevy debate. The friends scattered to their next classes. Settling into her desk, Marty slid down in her seat. She was passing class with flying colors, so slacking off wasn’t going to kill her grade.

“Okay, people, let’s get started,” her teacher announced, sounding slightly bored.

 _Right,_ Marty thought and turned her attention to not paying attention.

_Bzzzz._

_Ooo, text!_ Marty swiped her pattern over her screen to unlock her phone.

_sam says dean is getting you something anyway_

Ruby.

_damn. what is it?_

_he didnt say. i’ll find out_

_i don’t want anything_

_i know i know. your weird_

_*you’re_

_dont correct me._

_*don’t_

_lol hate u_

_hate *you more_

Marty had a sinking feeling that someone was standing over her. Cringing, she looked up slowly to meet the annoyed face of her teacher.

“Is my class interrupting your social life, Miss Weber?” he asked.

“No, sir,” Marty replied, shoving her phone under her thigh.

“Perhaps you can pay attention then?” he asked next.

Marty heaved a huge sigh. “I suppose.”

A faint chuckle rippled through her classmates. Smiling a little, her teacher continued pacing around the room as he lectured. Jennifer Tillinger glared at Marty from across the room. Marty flipped her off and went back to not listening.

“He should have taken her phone,” Marty heard Jennifer Tillinger say to her friend as they all filed out of the classroom. “She’s such a spoiled bitch.”

“Yeah,” her friend agreed.

Marty snickered. She knew they were talking loud enough for her to hear. And, god, it was amusing. Marty turned to Jennifer in the hallway.

“Something you need to say?” Marty asked her.

Jennifer Tillinger rolled her eyes. “Not to you.”

“Then maybe,” Marty said, smiling sweetly, “you should shut your fucking mouth before I slap your teeth out of it.”

“You’re pretty brave all by yourself,” Jennifer said.

“Should I be afraid of you?” Marty asked. She glanced over Jennifer’s shoulder at Jennifer’s friend. “Or of you?”

“Yes,” Jennifer Tillinger replied, but she didn’t sound very sure of herself.

“Bless your heart,” Marty said then turned and walked away.

Once she was far enough away from Jennifer Tillinger, Marty let out her breath and leaned against the wall, her heart leaping around in her chest.

 _Well, that was terrifying,_ she thought.

“Are you coming over to study?” Marty asked Dean on the drive home.

Dean clutched the passenger side door handle as Marty drove. “No. I have to work.”

“Again?” Marty asked. “That’s every night for a week. They know you’re in school, right?”

Marty had been over the moon when Dean told her he’d gotten a job in The Thatcher House kitchen as a prep guy. He was in charge of all the soups, stocks, dressings and gravies, he’d told her proudly. The head chef hadn’t made Dean a dishwasher because he had some basic knowledge of cooking from teaching himself at home.

“I know,” Dean said, but he sounded pretty excited about it. “Tonight’s soup is Bouillabaisse, so I’m thinking of going in early to start it.”

“Lots of steps?” Marty asked, turning down their street.

“Yeah, but it’s really good.”

Marty pulled into her driveway. Both of her parents cars were gone, so she turned to Dean with a wry little grin.

“Can I convince you to go into work a little later?” she asked.

Dean pursed his lips. “Maybe you can.”

“C’mon, chef,” Marty teased, getting out of the truck.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” Dean laughed, chasing her up the steps to the front door.

Marty leaned up on her elbow, watching Dean pull his jeans on. She smiled lazily at him as he moved around her room, collecting his clothes.

“Love me and leave me?” she teased.

Dean looked up from pulling on his boots, grinning. “You loved it and you know it.” Dean stood up and came over to the bed. Leaning over, he kissed Marty. “And now I’m gonna be late.”

“You’re only gonna be late according to you,” Marty said. “You’d already be at work if you hadn’t done that thing with the thing.”

Dean laughed a little as he put on his coat. “Oh, you mean that thing you were begging me for?”

Marty snorted. “I don’t beg.”

“Oh, Dean! Oh, Dean! Don’t stop! Oh, god!” Dean shrieked out in a ridiculous falsetto voice, grabbing at the front of his coat and throwing his head back.

Marty heaved a pillow at him, hitting him in the chest. “Get out of here, chef.”

“See ya later,” Dean said as he opened her door.

“Yeah,” Marty replied, rolling her eyes.

Once Dean was gone, Marty dressed and got down to studying. They had a test in English the next day and, as much as Dean liked to profess his genius at literature, Marty knew Dean should buckle down and study. But “listening to others’ advice” didn’t really fly with Dean. Knowing him, he was probably going to come home after midnight, choke down a plate of something, and study until 3am. Then get up in the morning, looking gorgeous, and pass their test like he was some kind of Rhodes Scholar.

“I’m the Mary!” Lisa Kudrow’s voice yelled from Marty’s phone. Ruby’s text alert.

_i’m studying_

_i know but sam knows what dean’s getting you_

_is it another car?_

_shut up_

_kay. what?_

_sam says its jewelry_

_nope. dean says that you only give jewelry if you don’t know your girlfriend_

Shit. Marty flinched. That would go over like a ton of bricks with Ruby, lover of sparkly things.

_thanks. you sayin sam doesnt know me?_

_no. but dean wouldn’t get me jewelry_

_look, i’m just tellin you what sam said_

“Marty! I’m home!” Deborah’s voice echoed up the stairs.

_gotta go. deb’s home_

_ttyl_

_kay_

“I’m up here!” Marty called back, stowing her phone as Deborah walked in.

“Homework, darling?” Deborah asked.

“I have an English test tom--”

“What’s that _smell_?” Deborah asked suddenly, sniffing deep.

Marty’s heart leaped into her throat. Smell? What _smell_? She didn’t smell anything. Oh, Jesus. Did Deborah smell Dean’s soap? Or worse: _sex_?

Marty shrugged, trying to control her panic as her face burned red and she inhaled most of the air in the room to get a whiff of whatever Deborah had detected.

“Oh, Marty. Incense?” Deborah groaned. Marty’s stomach unclenched as Deborah motioned at the long-smoldering incense cone. “This stuff always smells so awful. Can’t you light a vanilla candle like a normal person?”

“Sorry, Mama,” Marty said, sighing in relief. “It helps me study.”

 _And covers up the scent of Dean,_ Marty’s brain added, forcing more blood to rush to Marty’s face.

“Well, still.” Deborah wrinkled her nose. “I’ll call you when dinner is ready.”

Marty smiled. “Okay.”

“Oh, and Marty?” Deborah added as she was leaving.

“Yeah, Mama?” Marty asked, turning back to her books.

“Tell Dean he needs to lay off the cologne. I could smell it as I was coming up the stairs.”

Deborah shut the door as Marty’s clutched her desk to keep from falling off her chair.


	40. Chapter 40

Valentine’s Day dawned grey and cold, matching Dean’s mood. He burrowed further under his blankets, blocking out the bitter chill that seeped in the drafty windows in his room. It was Saturday. Marty had the lunch shift at the pizza place and Dean had the super busy dinner shift at The Thatcher House. Dean groaned and rolled out of bed. Unless he moved his ass, he was going to miss the tiny window they had to see each other.

Dean shot Marty a text: _getting in the shower. c u soon_

_k :)_

_u get me a present?_

_lol nope_

_thanx, ginger_

_told u i hate vday_

_yeah yeah_

Dean showered, dressed, and headed downstairs for breakfast.

“Morning, angel,” Mary greeted him.

“Morning.” Dean poured himself a cup of coffee. “Got any big plans today?”

“Oh, yeah,” Mary replied sarcastically. “Me and Sean Connery are popping over to his castle in Scotland for a romantic weekend.”

“Make sure he uses protection,” Dean told her without skipping a beat. “He was James Bond. He’s been around.”

“Dude, gross.” Sam entered the room, already dressed for work.

“You both have to work today?” Mary asked.

The boys nodded as they moved around the kitchen, pouring bowls of cereal and more coffee. Mary watched as they did a wordless dance of passing the box of Rice Chex and milk back and forth. Dean tossed Sam a spoon, who caught it without looking. It was a routine they’d perfected over the years, getting ready for school when Mary was at work.

“You two taking that show on the road?” Mary teased.

Both Sam and Dean looked at her then each other, confused.

“What show?” Sam asked.

“The--never mind,” Mary said. So many years of caring for each other had made their symbiotic movements invisible to them.

“So, I’m trying out for the baseball team,” Sam said as the boys settled down to eat. “Gabriel said they need guys on JV.”

“That’s awesome, Sammy” Dean said.

“Good for you, baby,” Mary agreed. “What about you?” She glanced at Dean, her eyes twinkling.

Dean choked on a spoonful of cereal, laughing. “Oh, yeah. I’m all about school sports.”

“They need guys,” Sam offered.

“I don’t sport,” Dean reminded his brother.

“Is that a verb now? ‘Sport’?” Mary poked Dean in the side as she got up from the counter.

“I don’t verb either.” Dean snickered at his own joke, which made Sam roll his eyes.

“I can think of a lot of verbs you verb,” Sam told his older brother.

“Stuff it, Sammy,” Dean warned.

Mary turned from the sink, eyebrows raised. “Oh, really? Like what?”

Sam grinned at Dean, but kept his lips shut. “Nothing, Ma.”

Mary smiled. It was a real smile, but there was warning behind it. “Uh-huh.”

“Gotta go!” Dean got to his feet quickly.

“Tell Marty I’ll be over in a little bit,” Sam told Dean. Sam and Marty were driving into work together.

“Yeah.” Dean grabbed his leather jacket and headed out the door.

Cringing against a bitter wind, Dean ran across the street. Marty opened the front door as soon as he hit the bottom step.

“Hey, Pretty Eyes,” Marty kissed him hello. She was already in her work tee-shirt and jeans.

“Happy V-D,” Dean cracked, handing her an envelope.

Marty took it, looking sheepish. “I really didn’t get you anything, Dean.”

“Just freaking open it,” Dean said.

Marty ripped the envelope open and pulled out a piece of paper. Puzzled, she looked up at Dean.

“Go on,” Dean urged.

Marty read the letter, then grinned up at her boyfriend. “You serious with this?”

Dean snatched the paper from Marty’s hands, cleared his throat and read, “Dean Winchester does solemnly swear to attend University of Kentucky Wildcats Men’s Basketball games whenever Marty Weber can get him a ticket. Regardless if she’s in the students’ section and he’s in the nosebleeds. Also, if Marty Weber could get Dean Winchester a seat close to Ashley Judd, Dean Winchester swears to paint his face blue.”

Marty clapped her hands, bursting out laughing. “You’re crazy, you know that?”

Dean nodded, handing Marty the paper back. “I must be. I hate basketball.”

Marty tucked the letter into her back pocket. “I do too.”

“Wait. You do?” Dean asked. “Give me that back.” Dean made a grab for Marty’s back pocket, but she skittered away from his grasp. “That makes the contract null and void!”

“Oh, no way,” Marty laughed. She battered Dean’s hands away. “I’m getting you a ticket for every game I can afford.”

Dean caught Marty around her waist, pulling her close. “You’re a brat,” he whispered. “You know that, right?”

“Absolutely,” Marty whispered back, smiling. “Now. Kiss me. I have to go to work.”

The Thatcher House was incredibly busy all night. Even in his lowly position as prep guy, Dean was hopping.

“Winchester!” the head chef barked out.

“Yes, Chef!” Dean replied, stopping what he was doing.

“Can you fillet?”

“Chef?” Dean asked, confused.

“Can you fillet? Fish? Beef?” the head chef asked.

Dean’s heart leapt into his throat. “Yes, Chef. I can.”

“McCauley!” Chef turned to another cook. “Winchester’s stepping in to help.”

“Yes, Chef!” the another cook agreed.

Dean hesitated. Filleting was an art. He’d only done it a few times and just at home. And, honestly? He kind of destroyed the meat.

“You comin’, Winchester?” the cook asked, looking over.

“I don’t have a knife,” Dean replied, his palms sweating as he walked over.

The other cook, McCauley, handed one of his knives over to Dean.

“Don’t--” he began.

“Cut myself. Got it,” Dean interrupted.

“No,” McCauley snapped. “Don’t fuck up my knife.”

Dean flushed. “Right. Got it.”

And so began Dean’s night of filleting salmon, walleye, and beef and his usual duties. Running back and forth between his and McCauley’s stations, Dean felt exhilarated. This was how working in a kitchen should be, fast-paced, exciting, and hectic. When the night was finally winding down, Dean paused while cleaning his station. His feet were killing him. His legs were aching. He’d burned his arm on a hot stock pot. He was drenched with sweat. He was exhausted.

He felt awesome.

“Winchester,” Chef said, coming up behind Dean.

“Yes, Chef?” Dean asked.

“You did good tonight,” Chef said.

Dean grinned. “Thanks, Chef.”

“A little practice, maybe,” Chef went on. Dean felt his heart thumping in his ears. “But you have great basic skills for someone who’s self-taught.”

“I spent most of my childhood cooking for my brother and me when our mom was at work,” Dean found himself confessing. He caught himself quickly and added, “Thanks.”

Chef crossed his arms over his chest. “Are you thinking of cooking for a living?”

Dean nodded. “I was hoping working here would look good for my CIA application.”

Chef looked pleased. “I went there. The New York campus.”

“I was hoping to go to the San Antonio campus,” Dean told him.

“Then to New York for your bachelor’s degree?” Chef asked.

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. That’s a lot of time.”

“Not for an education.” Chef told him.

“I guess.” Dean remained non-committal.

“Well, Winchester, you keep up with this crew and I’ll think about writing you a reference letter.”

Dean’s hopes soared. “Really?”

Chef nodded a little. “Clean up your station and come up front for a round.”

“I’m not old enough to drink.”

Chef chuckled. “I’m sure we get you a Pepsi.”

“Thanks, Chef. Again,” Dean said.

Chef walked away and Dean made his workstation shine, smiling and whistling like a fool. Sure, he couldn’t spend Valentine’s Day with his girlfriend, but he had an awesome night at work and his chef had offered to write him a recommendation letter if he continued to kick ass.

_I can kick ass,_ Dean thought smugly as he swiped the counter one final time.

“There he is,” McCauley said, saluting Dean with a bottle of beer. “The dude who stole my knife all night.”

“At Chef’s orders,” Dean said, sitting down at the bar.

“Don’t blame me you don’t have your own knives,” Chef said, sipping a glass of red wine.

Dean joined the kitchen crew for drinks, opting for sodas, of course. At the other end, an exhausted group of waitresses counted out their tips, smiling widely. Sure, it sucked to work on Valentine’s Day, but the tips obviously ruled.

The workers of The Thatcher House shared drinks and laughs for about an hour. Dean finally ducked out close to half past 12, leaving the bulk of his coworkers behind with their booze. He couldn’t wait to get home and text Marty and tell her about his night.

Letting his car warm up, Dean dug his phone out of his glove compartment. He’d brought it into work the first few nights, but it bumped around in the pocket of his loose-fitting chef pants too much, so Dean had taken to leaving it in the car.

“What the fuck?” he muttered to himself, checking his phone.

10 missed calls. 16 texts.

All from Sam and Mary.

“Shit! Shit! _Shit_!” Dean threw the car into drive and sped home.

Bounding up the front steps of the house, Dean tried to open the front door to find it locked. Fumbling with his key, Dean turned the door and threw his shoulder into it, but the chain caught.

“Mom! Sam!” Dean yelled. “It’s me! Let me in!”

“Back up!” Sam’s voice roared.

“Sam! It’s Dean! Let me in!” Dean shouted.

The door yanked closed. Dean heard the chain rattle and then the door flew open. Sam was on the other side. One hand was on the door knob. In Sam’s other hand was Mary’s gun.

“Get in here,” Sam ordered. He grabbed Dean’s arm and pulled him inside.

“Sammy, what the hell--” Dean began.

“Where the _fuck_ have you been?” Sam demanded.

“Why do you have Mom’s gun?” Dean asked. “What the hell’s going on? Where’s Mom?”

“Dean?” Mary’s voice called from the living room.

Glancing at Sam, Dean pushed past him and ran into the living room. Mary was on the couch, an empty coffee mug and wine glass in front of her. Dean skidded to a stop, landing on the couch next to her.

“What happened?” Dean demanded, grabbing Mary’s hands. “Mom, what happened?”

Mary pushed her mobile phone across the coffee table toward Dean. Dean narrowed his eyes, confused, as he watched Mary. Sam joined his mother and brother, standing over them both, still holding Mary’s small handgun.

“Where were you?” Sam spit out at his older brother.

“I was at work,” Dean snapped.

“The restaurant closed at nine. It’s midnight,” Sam growled. “Where the fuck were you for three hours?”

“I had to clean up and then we all hung out--you know what?” Dean shook the phone at Sam. “What’s going on here?”

“Stop fighting,” Mary said and the boys quieted, glaring at each other.

“Mom, please,” Dean said, turning back to his mother. “What happened?”

“Play him the voice mail, Ma,” Sam said. “Play him the fucking thing.”

Mary picked his phone up off the table with trembling hands, pressed a few buttons, and turned the phone toward Dean.

“Mrs. Winchester? This is Calvin Marcus,” a man’s voice said. “I’m with the Cooke County parole board. As is the law, I’m calling to inform you that John Winchester has been released from prison and is now residing in a halfway house. The terms of Mr. Winchester’s parole says he cannot travel outside the county. I can be reached at 312-555-1055 if you have any questions.”

_Click._

Dean looked up at Mary, who was white as a ghost. Standing over them, Sam’s hands began to shook. He put the gun down on the table and joined Dean and Mary on the couch. Mary wrapped her arms around both of her sons and began to sob.

“It’ll be okay, Mom,” Dean was murmuring. “It’ll be fine. He won’t find us. He won’t. He can’t. He won’t find us. He won’t.”

Sam and Dean tightened their grips on the shaking form of their mother and each other. Sam’s lips began to tremble, tears spilling over his lower lashes, but he stayed quiet as his shoulders shook under Dean’s arms.

“He won’t find us,” Dean said between clenched teeth as his mother and baby brother cried in his embrace. “He won’t. I won’t fucking let him.”


	41. Chapter 41

Sunday morning, Dean’s immediate order of business was to put the whole house on lockdown.

First, Dean had Sam quit his job at the pizza parlor. There was no way Dean was going to let Sam work somewhere there was no security or no Dean to protect him in case John Winchester showed up. Sam threw up an argument over it, but a quiet word from Mary silenced him and he did as he was told.

Second, Dean called the head of security at Mary’s hospital and explained the whole situation. Even though the head of security assured Dean that everything they discussed would be completely confidential, it almost destroyed Dean to have to share such personal information with a stranger. Unconvinced that a mere rent-a-cop could hold off a animal like John Winchester, Dean grilled the security head about his training. The words “Green Beret” made up Dean’s mind.

Third, Dean very nearly quit his job at The Thatcher House. That was when Mary stepped in.

“Absolutely not,” Mary announced. “I will not have you give up your future for that man.”

“He’s not a man, Mom,” Dean argued. “He’s an animal.”

“I won’t let John Winchester ruin your life, Dean,” Mary said. “That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t fair is that he’s out,” Dean fumed. “How does that happen?”

“Good behavior,” Sam replied. “That’s why he got early release. Calvin Marcus said so.”

“Well, that’s fucking idiotic,” Dean raged.

“Whether it is or it isn’t ‘fucking idiotic’ is neither here nor there,” Mary told him. “It’s the reality of the situation and now we have to deal with it.”

“He can’t come here,” Sam said. “He can’t leave the county. If he leaves Cook County, he gets arrested.”

“It doesn’t matter, Sammy,” Dean told him. “Guys like him don’t care about laws. If he can get here, he’ll get here.”

A knock on the front door made all three Winchesters start in their seats. Dean jumped up to stand over Mary protectively, but Mary laid a hand on Dean’s shoulder.

“I won’t let John Winchester dictate my fear,” she told her son and left the room to answer the door.

“Hi, Mrs. W!” Ruby’s voice reached them cheerfully. “Is Sam ready for work?”

Sam rushed down the hallway to head off the situation. “Hey, Ru.”

“Hey, babe.” Ruby let herself into the house and hugged Sam, then Mary. “Why aren’t you dressed?” Ruby looked over Mary’s shoulder at Dean’s massive frame, hulking at the end of the hallway. “Hey, Dean.”

Sam looked down at his sweats and old t-shirt, then back up into Ruby’s eyes. “I had to quit, Ru. My … grades are down. And Mom--Mom wants me to study more.”

“Get out,” Ruby said, looking surprised. “I thought you were on Honor Roll last semester.”

“I am,” Sam slid into the lie easily. “But still, I got a couple low grades on tests and stuff, so I don’t want to slack off.”

Ruby nodded. “I guess that’s true enough. Still,” Ruby nudged Sam’s ribs playfully, “nerd.”

Kissing Sam good-bye, Ruby left, waving over her shoulder. Once she’d gotten into her car, Sam shut the front door, locking, dead bolting, and chaining it shut. In the dim light of the hallway, Mary could see the disappointment on his face.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Dean said from his spot at the end of the hall.

“Yeah, well, I get it,” Sam said, without looking at his brother. “I get it, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

“We all have to make sacrifices, Sam,” Mary said as they joined Dean in the kitchen again. Pouring herself another cup of chamomile tea (coffee was jangling her nerves), Mary turned to her sons. “I’m sorry this happened, boys.”

“Why?” Sam asked. “You didn’t release him, Ma.”

“You shoulda shot him in the head,” Dean muttered, toying with his empty mug.

“Dean!” Mary cried out, shooting Sam a terrified glance.

“I know everything,” Sam confessed.

“What?” Mary glared at Dean.

“I told him. I had to,” Dean confessed. “He’s known for months.”

“Well, I’m glad I was informed of this,” Mary snapped.

Dean shrugged. “You can’t keep him in the dark forever. And aren’t you glad you don’t have to relive it all now? Under all this?”

Mary continued to glare at Dean, who flinched just a little under her eyes. When he finally looked up at her, Dean was shocked at the anger on Mary’s face.

“Mom, look, I’m sorry,” Dean began.

“Save it,” Mary snapped, holding up a hand, and effectively shutting Dean up. “I don’t want to hear it. You had no right to tell Sam anything. _I’m_ the parent, Dean, not you. I’m sorry you feel that you are after all these years, but the fact remains that _I’m_ in charge and _I’m_ the head of this family and _I_ will decide when and where _my_ child will know something.” Mary’s blue eyes blazed at Dean, who cowed and tried to disappear into his shirt. “Now. We will continue with our lives. You and Sam will go to school. You will go to work. I will go to work. The doors will remain locked. These are simple precautions. I won’t let John Winchester ruin our lives, boys. I won’t. I refuse.”

Sam was the first one to put his arms around Mary. Mary put one arm around Sam as he wrapped his arms around her waist and rested his head on her shoulder. Mary looked over at Dean and held out her other hand. Dean got up immediately and  joined them in a family hug, his head awkwardly resting on Mary’s other shoulder. The biggest difference between this hug and the one last night was that Mary was the strong one in the middle with one arm around each of her sons. Dean was more than happy to pass that torch into Mary’s capable hands.

The next few weeks of the Winchesters’ lives were beyond stressful. Dean and Sam drove to school together in Dean’s car. Dean had a hard time explaining to Marty that she and Ruby couldn’t ride with them anymore without telling her what was going on. Finally, he told her that between Sam’s fictionally slipping grades and Dean’s realistically tough work schedule, it was just easier for them to take separate cars. Marty pouted (as was expected) but understood (also expected).

Mary’s personal security guard took his job very seriously. The first night Mary was escorted to her car, she came home, still smiling.

“What’s so funny?” Dean asked, meeting Mary in the hallway with a baseball bat at the ready.

“A bat, Dean?” Mary asked as she hung up her coat.

Dean shrugged, then followed Mary back into the kitchen after checking the door. Dean leaned the bat against the fridge as Mary helped herself to a glass of iced tea. Sam was laying on the couch, reading _The Rime of the Ancient Mariner_ and grimacing in agony. Sam groaned suddenly, flinging his head back against the couch pillows. Mary and Dean glanced over at him.

“This is awful,” Sam groused, dropping the open book across his face.

“It is an ancient Mariner,/And he stoppeth one of three./'By thy long grey beard and glittering eye,/Now wherefore stopp'st thou me?/The Bridegroom's doors are opened wide,/And I am next of kin;/The guests are met, the feast is set:/May'st hear the merry din,” Dean intoned in a deep voice, one hand on his chest, the other in front of him like an ancient Roman orator.

“How do you remember that? You wanna take the test for me?” Sam asked excitedly.

Dean laughed softly, the sound making Mary grin secretly. It had been a very difficult few days for them, with Dean barely sleeping, stalking the house, checking and rechecking and re-rechecking the locked doors and windows. No amount of reassurance from Mary or Sam could calm him down. So, this moment, this tiny laugh at his own expense, was a huge stride forward.

“What else happened today?” Mary asked.

Dean’s mirth was gone immediately. “I called Calvin Marcus when I got home. He couldn’t give me any other information about the details of … _his_ release than we already know.”

Mary’s stomach heaved. The bitterness in Dean’s voice aged him 50 years. The last thing she needed was Dean falling down the rabbit hole of depression and obsession because John Winchester was out in the real world again.

“We must know all we need to know then,” Mary said, forcing herself to keep her voice light. “I’m sure we’ll be notified if anything transpires. Now. What am I making for dinner?”

Sam looked over his book at Dean. Dean’s shoulders and arms were so tight, Sam could see the veins bulging in the backs of his arms. Sam bit the inside of his mouth, wondering if there was anything he could do to keep Dean from giving himself an aneurysm. Pulling his phone from his pocket, Sam texted Marty.

_u gotta minute?_

_sam?_

_yeah_

_what’s up?_

_we need to talk about dean_

_what’s wrong? what happened?_

_can we talk private?_

_call me right now, sam_

Sam got up and headed upstairs while Mary and Dean started dinner. Behind his closed door, Sam dialed Marty’s number. She answered on the first ring.

“What happened? Is everything alright? Does this have anything to do with driving to school?” Marty’s questions came out in a breathless rush.

“Marty, wait,” Sam said. “I can’t tell you anything if you don’t stop talking.”

“What--sorry,” Marty interrupted herself. Sam heard her take a deep breath and then she said, in a deceptively calm voice, “Now. Sam. Tell me everything.”

Sam took his own deep breath, closed his eyes, and began to talk.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Granny Albrecht makes a brief appearance and brings some German along with her:
> 
> Schätzchen: little treasure  
> Schlingel: brat  
> Vater: father  
> Ich liebe dich: I love you

Marty pulled into the spot next to Dean’s car. Ruby had chattered the whole way to school, but Marty hadn’t heard a word. She hadn’t slept well or eaten more than a few bites in the past few days. The conversation with Sam haunted her. There was so much to digest from what Sam had told her.

“Are you crying?” Sam had asked her when they were on the phone.

Marty had picked her head up, swiping her eyes and nose with the back of one hand. “Yeah.”

“Well, cry now,” Sam had said, almost cruelly. “You can’t let Dean know you know.”

“How can I hide it?” Marty had wailed.

“You _have_ to,” Sam had insisted. “He’ll be furious with all of us if he finds out.”

Marty swallowed hard as she and Ruby got out of the truck.

“Are you listening to me?” Ruby asked suddenly.

“What?” Marty asked, confused.

“You aren’t,” Ruby accused. “You haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”

Marty shrugged, flinging her messenger bag across herself. “Yeah, sorry.”

“What were thinking about?” Ruby asked, linking her arm through Marty’s as they headed into school.

“Just … stuff,” Marty muttered, noncommittal.

“Dean?” Ruby teased, tickling her.

Marty cringed away from Ruby’s sharp fingernails. “Yeah. Dean.”

“He and Sam have been so weird lately,” Ruby commented as the girls strolled into school together. “Like, I can’t believe they’re already here.”

“They’re already here because they didn’t have to wait for you to pick out a pair of shoes,” Marty told her.

Dean was at his locker, digging deep into the back. Marty had no idea what he could have been searching so diligently for: he had the neatest locker Marty had ever seen.

“Hey, Pretty Eyes,” she greeted him as she walked up behind him.

“Hey, Ginger,” Dean replied from inside his locker. “How’s it going?”

“Oh. Peachy.”

Dean pulled his head out and looked at Marty. “Jesus. Are you all right? You look terrible.”

“Thanks a lot,” Marty said, shoving her coat into her own locker and grabbing her math book. “You’re charming this morning.”

“Ging, are you feeling okay?” Dean asked, concerned, holding her chin in his hand. “You coming down with flu?”

Marty wrapped her fingers around Dean’s wrist and smiled up at him, trying to push the vision of 8 year old Dean getting pummeled to a pulp out of her head.

“I’m fine.”

The first chance Marty got, she headed into the bathroom to put on more make-up. Looking at herself in the mirror, she saw what Dean saw: sad eyes, down-turned mouth, little rings around her eyes. Well, she can’t hide her feelings with _that_ face. Smiling brightly at her reflection, Marty applied some shiny lip gloss and another layer of mascara. She was going to be cheerful if it freaking killed her.

“Granny, I just don’t know what to do,” Marty wailed into the phone. “I’m a terrible liar. He’s eventually going to figure out I know.”

On the other end of the line, Granny Albrecht clicked her tongue.

“Well, _Schätzchen_ , if I’m being honest, I think you should keep what you know to yourself best you can,” Granny said. “Sam told you in confidence and you need to keep that confidence.”

“Can you believe they had to live like that?” Marty asked.

“I do,” Granny Albrecht replied.

“What?” Marty asked.

“Ach, Mary Martha, you can see his pain from space.”

“I couldn’t,” Marty admitted.

“You couldn’t because you love him.”

“But I thought love helped you learn things about people.”

“It does,” Granny Albrecht agreed, “but I’m old and I can see things you can’t.”

“So, you’re psychic now?” Marty laughed a little.

Granny Albrecht chuckled. “ _Schlingel_! You have to be serious for a minute now.”

“Yes, Granny.” Marty cleared her throat. “I’m listening.”

“Sam thought you needed to know and Dean wasn’t ready to tell you,” Granny Albrecht began.

Marty rolled her eyes. She’d heard this part of the speech already. Flopping back onto her pillows, she covered her eyes with her arm and tried not to groan into the phone in annoyance.

“Are you listening to me?”

“Yes, Granny.”

“Then stop flopsing all over your bed, uncover your eyes, and listen,” Granny Albrecht ordered.

Marty shot up off her pillows and looked around her room. How did Granny know what she was doing ?

“How did you feel when Sam told you that story?” Granny Albrecht asked.

“Sick to my stomach,” Marty admitted. “I couldn’t imagine someone beating his family like that. What kind of man is that?”

“That’s not a man, _Schätzchen_. That’s an animal,” Granny Albrecht corrected her.

“No wonder Mary shot him.”

“Any woman in her right mind would shoot the man who put his hands on her children,” Granny Albrecht agreed.

“Too bad she didn’t shoot him in the head,” Marty muttered.

“Mary Martha,” Granny Albrecht warned her.

“But what happens now, Granny?” Marty asked after a minutes’ silence. “I love Dean and I know I promised Sam, but I can’t lie to Dean. He’s gonna eventually figure out that I know something’s up.”

“Maybe he’s planning on telling you himself,” Granny Albrecht suggested.

Marty scoffed. “Not hardly. He keeps secrets better than anyone I know.”

“Mary Martha?” James opened her bedroom door. Finding her on the phone, his face tightened. “Who are you speaking to?”

“Lucifer,” Marty snapped.

“Mary Martha!” James and Granny Albrecht scolded at the same time.

Marty sighed. “It’s Granny, Daddy. Want to say hello?”

Marty held her phone out to her father, who recoiled from it like it was a Planned Parenthood pamphlet.

“Dinner is in 15 minutes,” James told her and left the doorway, leaving the door open.

Marty made a disgusted noise, closing her door with a hard slam.

“Sorry, Granny,” she said when she got back on the phone.

“Things are that bad with your father, _Schätzchen_?” Granny Albrecht asked.

“Worse.” Marty picked on her duvet cover listlessly. “He hates Dean more than anyone in the history of the world.”

Granny Albrecht made an amused sound. “Even more than Margaret Sanger or the Democratic party?”

“Granny!” Marty burst out laughing.

“It’s good to hear you laugh.” Marty could hear Granny Albrecht’s smile through the phone and that made Marty grin. “You’ve been so sad lately.”

“You only know that because I told you,” Marty teased her grandmother. “But, Granny. Dean?”

“Yes, yes,” Granny Albrecht replied. “What I suggest is going to sound very old fashioned, but I really believe it.”

“Yes?” Marty couldn’t keep the urgency from her voice.

“Don’t say a word.”

“What?”

“ _Schätzchen_ , you heard me,” Granny Albrecht went on, despite Marty’s audible shock. “Your boy will tell you when he’s ready to tell you. If he doesn’t tell you? Ach, so be it. He didn’t tell you. Your younger generation puts so much emphasis on telling, telling, telling. There are no secrets anymore. You know something and zip: out into the world it goes with no regard for who hears it or reads it or watches it. I miss the days of no Internet and texting and instant chat.”

“I’ll remember that the next time you post a cat video on Facebook at 3 o’clock in the morning,” Marty teased.

“Mary Martha! Dinner!” James called upstairs.

“Ugh. Time for dinner with my jailor,” Marty told her grandmother.

“Be nice to your _Vater_ , Mary Martha,” Granny Albrecht said. “He still loves you.”

“Darth _Vater_ ,” Marty giggled.

“May the Force be with you, Leia.”

“Thanks, Obi-Wan.”

“ _Ich liebe dich, Schätzchen_.”

“ _Ich liebe dich_ , Granny.”

Marty headed downstairs, humming Norman Greenbaum’s _Spirit in the Sky_ which, for the longest time, James thought was performed by a Christian band. He went out and bought the whole album. Listening to it in horror, James soon discovered that not only was his new favorite song written in 1969 and performed by a dirty hippie, the dirty hippie was also a _Jew_.

Even now, Marty was convinced it was the funniest pop culture faux pas her father had ever made.

“Stop humming that, Mary Martha,” James ordered as Marty entered the kitchen.

“Sorry, Daddy,” Marty replied without the least bit of _sorry_ in her voice. “How are you?”

“How is your grandmother?” James asked, avoiding her question.

“Oh, she’s just keen,” Marty answered cheerfully. “Making _Star Wars_ references and doling out advice like Dear Abby.”

James closed his eyes briefly like just hearing Mary’s answer was painful for him. Marty grinned at her plate. Goading her father was childish--she knew it was childish--but Lord above, did it ever feel good.

Deborah glanced between her husband and her daughter. They were talking, which--in itself--was good, but she had heavier things on her mind. A disturbing phone call from Mary Winchester had thrown Deborah’s whole day out of flux and all Deborah wanted to do was dig out her .22, lock the front door, and wait for the inevitable arrival of John Winchester.

_He’s not coming for my family anymore than he’s coming for Mary’s,_ Deborah thought as she cut her pork chop into dainty little pieces.


	43. Chapter 43

Marty couldn’t relax. Under the blankets on Dean’s bed, with Dean’s arm around her and curled up against his long, muscular body, all Marty could think was “Is the next knock on the door his father?”

It had only been a few weeks since Sam had confessed his family's history to Marty, and she still couldn’t get comfortable in their house. If Dean noticed, he hadn’t said a word. If anything, it had increased their sex life because Marty only felt safe behind a locked door. And locking the door to Dean’s room to roll around on his bed meant there were two locked doors between her and the outside world where cruel and abusive dads who beat their families lurked.

Just thinking about John Winchester prompted Marty to burrow under the covers and closer to Dean.

“Hey, Ginger,” Dean murmured in response to her closeness. His fingers tickled themselves over her back. “You okay?”

“Course,” Marty replied. Thank god her voice sounded normal.

Dean looked down at her. “You sure? You’re being awfully clingy.”

Marty put her chin on Dean’s ribs and smirked. “Clingy? I’m cuddling.”

“If that’s what you want to call it,” Dean teased.

“Shut up, Pretty Eyes,” Marty told him.

“Kiss me, then, to shut me up.”

Marty scooted up, and kissed him. Dean’s arms slipped around her waist, pulling her even closer. Marty moved her mouth from Dean’s lips to his ear lobe to his neck, making Dean groan a little at the tickle of her breath.

“Get on top of me,” he moaned.

Marty slid over him, nestling Dean’s hardening cock between her legs, against her slit. She leaned over to mouth Dean’s nipples, rubbing herself up and down the length of his dick. Dean gripped Marty’s thighs, squeezing them hard. Marty nipped Dean’s chest, moaning a little as her own teasing of Dean’s cock teased her clit.

“Marty,” Dean grunted. Marty raised her eyes to see a condom dangling in front of her face. “Marty … put it on …”

Marty sat up, ripped the condom open, and slid it on Dean as he moaned at her touch. She started to climb off Dean so they could change position, but Dean stopped her.

“No, baby.” Dean stopped her. “Stay on top.”

Marty hesitated, but Dean’s hands moved to her hips, pulling her back on top on him. Unsure of what to do next, Marty repositioned herself over Dean’s cock and eased herself down onto it. Marty hissed as she adjusted to his size, then started to move a little.

“That’s my girl,” Dean whispered, moving with her.

Marty slowly found her rhythm. Marty’s hips rose and fell, building tension deep inside her. She leaned forward, planting her hands on either side of Dean’s head and rolled her hips against his, panting.  

“You like that?” Dean growled, holding onto her.

“Oh, god, yes!” Marty gasped and mashed her lips against his.

Moaning into her mouth, Dean reached up and grabbed Marty’s breasts, flicking her nipples with his thumbs. Marty moved faster at his touch, losing her rhythm, but neither of them cared.

“Don’t stop!” Marty cried out as she came suddenly.

Dean thrust his hips up to meet hers as Marty stopped moving, riding her orgasm out. Dean grabbed her waist as he finished, his head tossed back against the pillow, body tight as pleasure coursed through him.

“Holy shit,” Marty gasped, falling over Dean, burying her face in the pillow next to his head.

“You should be on top more often,” Dean teased as he panted.

Marty giggled. “Oh, shut up.”

Dean moved Marty’s hair off his face to look at his clock. “Better get dressed. We won’t be alone much longer.”

Marty groaned a little as she lifted herself off him and back into her spot. “Do we have to?” she whined.

“Not unless you want my mom walking in on us all naked and sweaty.”

“Fine,” Marty huffed playfully, reaching for her bra on the floor.

Kissing Dean goodbye at the front door, Marty scurried through the rain to her house. Deborah had a Ladies Committee meeting at the church about the Spring food drive, leaving Marty and James to forage for dinner on their own.

Marty noticed that the message light was blinking at her on the answering machine. Hitting the button, James’ sour voice filled the  kitchen.

“Mary Martha, I’m still at work and it looks like I’ll be here later than expected. Please make yourself dinner and do not let anyone into the house.” Marty snorted. “Anyone.” He might as well have said “Dean.” James went on, “I’ll be home in a few hours.”

Marty deleted the message and did a little happy dance around the kitchen. Home alone! No parents! That meant loud music and TV shows James hated and eating mac and cheese out of the pot in the living room with her feet on the coffee table.

Ten minutes later, Marty was on the couch with a pot of Velveeta shells and cheese in her lap and a 2 liter bottle of Pepsi (and her feet) on the the coffee table, watching an old episode of _Spongebob_.

“I’m the Mary!” Ruby’s text alert exclaimed at her.

_u home alone?_

_yeah how’d you know?_

_mom texted me and wanted me to invite u over for dinner_

_nah. i’m good. i got mac n cheese and spongebob._

_no dean?_

_did that already today lmao_

_slut lol_

_bigger slut_

_c u_

_bye_

Marty tossed her phone aside and dug back into her dinner. On TV, Spongebob and Patrick were driving Squidward insane. Outside, rain pelted the windows. The only thing that could make this night better was if Dean was here with her.

A sudden panic gripped Marty’s stomach. She was alone. It was dark. What if … what if Dean’s father showed up? What if he got into the house? What if he held her hostage until Mary agreed to take him back? Marty held the pot of congealing macaroni and cheese to her chest, frozen to her seat, staring at the front door from her spot on the couch. It was locked. She knew it was locked. She’d locked it herself. But … still … Marty glanced at the door surreptitiously.

The knob jiggling made Marty scream. She practically threw her dinner across the living room as she fled into the kitchen, leaving her phone on the couch. Once she was in the kitchen, Marty realized she was phoneless and scrabbled for the cordless on the wall.

“Marty? Marty!” Deborah’s voice reached her ears just as Marty was dialing 911. “Where are you?”

“Mama?” Marty called out. Deborah appeared in the kitchen doorway and Marty shrieked, waving the phone like a sword, before she focused on the shocked face of her mother. “Oh, Jesus Christ! Mama!”

Marty dropped the phone, covered her face, and burst into tears. Deborah was across the kitchen in a second, her arms around Marty as she sobbed. Marty clung to her mother’s soaked raincoat, crying into her shoulder.

“What happened? What’s wrong? Are you all right?” Deborah demanded.

“Oh, god, Mama!” Marty gasped. “I thought--I thought you were--were--”

“John Winchester?” Deborah asked.

Marty choked on her tears. She jerked away from Deborah, glaring at her suspiciously.

“How do you know about John Winchester?” Marty asked hoarsely.

“Mary told me everything.” Deborah stripped off her coat. “How do you know about John Winchester?”

“Sam told me everything,” Marty confessed. “But I think you already knew I knew.”

“I thought Dean may have told you,” Deborah told her.

“Dean hasn’t told me shit,” Marty answered, unable to keep the bitterness from her voice.

“Go get that hot pot off my coffee table,” Deborah said suddenly.

Marty glanced into the dimly-lit living room, then back at Deborah, who looked slightly annoyed. Deborah pointed firmly and Marty rushed in and out of the living room at top speed.

“There better not be cheese sauce on my carpet,” Deborah said mildly, taking the pot from Marty and placing it in the sink.

“No, ma’am,” Marty replied, settling down on the counter to watch Deborah make herself a small salad.

Deborah whacked Marty’s knee with a fork. “Get down this instance.”

“Mama, why do you think Dean hasn’t told me about his father, but Sam and Mary have already told us?” Marty asked without moving off her perch on the counter.

Deborah considered this. “I’m sure he’s doing it out of loyalty to his mother. No son like Dean goes around, gadding all the family secrets. No matter who it is he should be telling.”

Marty sighed. “I really do wish he’d been the one to tell me. It sucks that I have to keep it a secret.”

Deborah whacked Marty’s knee again. “I said get down. And I honestly think Dean will tell you when Dean is ready to tell you.”

Marty joined Deborah at the kitchen table. They sat in silence for a few minutes while Marty tried to form her next question so it wouldn’t A) freak her mother out or B) freak herself out.

“Mama?” Marty asked timidly. “Do you think I’m … safe?”

Deborah stopped chewing, a muscle jumping in her cheek. Without looking up from her salad, Deborah finished chewing, swallowed, and turned to Marty slowly.

“I think you personally are as safe as you’re going to be,” Deborah replied, her voice even. “But I think that Mary and the boys may be in more trouble than we know of.”

“Do you think he’ll come here for them?”

“I think that, if he does, he’ll find himself in more trouble than he counted on.”

Marty swallowed, her throat dry with fear. “Do you think he’ll try to hurt them?”

“Yes,” Deborah said simply. “But I think he’ll get hurt before he could can hurt them.”

“Dean will kill him,” Marty whispered.

Deborah closed her eyes briefly to hide the fear she knew was in them.

“I think,” she said, “that Dean will be the least of John Winchester’s worries.”


	44. Chapter 44

"It’s freaking freezing,” Dean muttered, huddling deeper into his coat.

“So freezing,” Marty agreed, huddling closer to Dean.

“I can’t believe Ruby’s not cold at all,” Dean commented.

“Go, Sam! Go, baby!” Ruby shouted, jumping to her feet next to them. She was only wearing a tank top with her jeans and boots, despite the damp and cold early March weather.

Out on the baseball field, Sam tried to ignore his girlfriend, but the leaping and screaming and scantily dressed form of Ruby Schneider was more than distracting. Sam waved a little, embarrassed, then turned his attention back to the scrimmage.

Ruby flopped down next to Marty, grinning. “Isn’t he just the cutest?”

“How are you not cold?” Marty asked from under her wool hat.

“Oh, I’m completely numb, but I want to be supportive,” Ruby replied.

“How is your tank top supportive?” Marty asked.

Dean eyed Ruby. “It’s not.”

Ruby laughed, giving Dean a slap. “Shut up. My tits are super perky.”

“Can we not discuss your breasts?” Marty asked.

Dean glanced at Ruby again as she lounged back against the bleachers. Damn, Sam was lucky. Ruby really was built for sin. A sharp elbow in his side jerked him back to reality. Dean met Marty’s amused eyes.

“Like the view?” she teased.

“Absolutely not,” Dean replied immediately.

“You’re really a terrible liar,” Marty told him.

“Damn. And I used to be so good at it.”

The scrimmage ended on account of rain, but not before the Pumas put up a number of runs. Scurrying undercover, Dean, Marty and Ruby waited for Sam to leave the locker room. Ruby, soaked to the skin, shivered.

“Okay,” Ruby said between chattering teeth, “I should have worn a coat.”

“Here.” Dean tossed his leather jacket over Ruby’s shoulders. “Don’t say I never gave you anything.”

“You gentleman.” Ruby pulled the collar up over her neck. “How do I look?”

“Like you’re drowning in my jacket,” Dean replied.

Sam snuck up behind Marty, flinging an arm around her. “Hey, if Ruby’s wearing your coat, does that mean Marty can be my girl now?”

“Oh, sure,” Ruby said, putting her arms around Dean’s waist. “The whole school already thinks we swap. Might as well perpetuate the rumor.”

Dean’s green eyes gleamed. “I’m starting to like this rumor.”

Marty laughed. “Let’s go get dinner. I’m starving.”

The four friends ran to Dean’s car, arms around each other, while a few people turned and watched.

“Jesus, could he park any closer?” Dean griped as he tried to open his door. The pick-up next to him was so close, Dean had to squeeze into his seat sideways. “I fucking hate when people do that.” Dean turned to ask Marty where she wanted to eat but found Ruby in the passenger seat. She grinned at him. “What the hell--?”

“Back here!” Marty laughed from the backseat, where she was sitting with Sam.

“Figured if I was your girl now, I could sit in the front,” Ruby teased Dean.

“You people are weird,” Dean told the three of them.

“Take me to dinner, boyfriend,” Ruby ordered.

Dean backed out of his spot, barely making it without sideswiping the old GMC truck next to them. Spotting a person in the front seat, Dean popped his middle finger up at them through the rain-streaked window.

“Asshole,” Dean muttered, pulling away.

Over way too much food at the Chinese buffet, Dean reclaimed Marty from Sam, letting her steal the Chinese vegetables from his plate. The four of them ate and ate, laughing and chattering. Halfway through dinner, Dean started to feel the skin on the back of his neck began to prickle. He turned away from the conversation and scanned the restaurant. Nothing and no one seemed out of the ordinary. Just families and couples and a few people dining alone.

Dean narrowed his eyes. People. Dining alone. How does that happen? Three were women and one was a guy in his 30s. That meant none of them were John Winchester. Dean turned back around to his friends, all of whom were staring at him.

“You all right, D?” Ruby asked.

Dean smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, great. Just thought--”

“Thought what?” Ruby asked, spearing a piece of sweet and sour chicken.

Sam exchanged a look with Marty when Dean didn’t answer, instead filling his mouth with lo mein. Sam swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Dean had been looking for John Winchester.

Dean had been looking for John Winchester everywhere they went. Sam couldn’t miss Dean craning his neck around the restaurant, storming into corners of the library, checking grocery store aisles before Mary or Sam could enter them. Every time Sam mentioned it or Mary gave him the Mom Look, Dean would scowl and hover behind them like a burly, pissed off bodyguard. It was driving both Sam and Mary crazy.

After dinner, Dean pulled Marty close as they were leaving. She looked up at him, smiling. Her smile slipped a little when she saw the look in his eyes.

“What’s the matter, Pretty Eyes?” she asked softly.

Dean shrugged a little. “I can’t put my arm around my girl?”

“Not when you’ve been acting so weird all through dinner.”

“How--” Dean faltered. “How do you mean?”

“C’mon, Dean.” Marty pulled Dean to the side as they left the restaurant. Sam and Ruby wrapped themselves around each other against the Pepsi vending machine, leaving Dean and Marty to talk. Marty took both of Dean’s hands in hers and gazed up at him. “You’ve been edgy all night. Is there anything you wanna tell me?”

Dean sighed, annoyed, rolling his eyes. Marty arched one eyebrow at him. Dean opened his mouth to answer, to tell her everything, to spill his guts, but … Nope.

“I’m good, Ginger,” Dean replied. “I’m just under a lot of pressure at work.”

A shadow flicked over Marty’s face, but she slid her arms around Dean’s waist and pressed her forehead against his chest. Dean kissed her on the top of the head.

“I love you.” Marty’s voice was muffled by his coat.

“Love you too,” Dean replied, meaning it.

Dean shuffled into the kitchen. It was the middle of the night, but he couldn’t sleep. His stomach was twisted into a knot over not telling Marty the truth. The girl had given him more love than he’d ever known outside his family, but he still couldn’t bring himself to tell her a thing.

Grabbing a glass of orange juice, Dean was heading back upstairs when a pair of headlights swept through the front room windows. He nearly ignored it until the headlights lit up the room again. Dean glanced at the hall clock. 3am. Who was driving in circles up and down their cul de sac at 3 o’clock in the morning? Dean’s hands started to shake, splashing juice over his fingers. There could only be one person driving past the Winchester house at 3 o’clock in the morning.

The low growl of an engine slowed to a stop in front of the house. Dean left his juice on the side table and went to the front window. Standing at the window, Dean had to force himself to open the blinds and look out.

“Oh, Jesus fucking Christ.”

Dean’s breath exploded out of his lungs as he rubbed a sticky hand over his face.

A police car. It was a police car.

Opening the front door, Dean stepped outside into the cold March night. The driver’s side window of the police car went down as Dean approached the car.

“Everything okay?” Dean asked the officers.

“Yeah. Just checking the neighborhoods,” the cop told him.

Dean’s heart nearly stopped. “Why? Something wrong?”

The cop cocked his head to the side a little. “Not that I know. Something you know?”

“Nope,” Dean replied quickly. “I--I gotta go in. No shoes. Night.”

“Night.” The cop’s voice reached Dean’s ears when he was halfway up the walk.

With the door closed and locked firmly behind him, Dean leaned against it, panting. His pulse pounded in his ears. There was no reason for him to be so scared, but he was. Why were the cops cruising up and down his road at 3am? Did they know something the Winchesters didn’t? Did Calvin Marcus call them and let them know that John Winchester was on his way and needed to be intercepted?

Dean sat up until dawn.

“Dean?” Marty touched his arm.

Dean jerked himself awake. “Wha--?”

“Welcome back, Mr. Winchester,” his teacher greeted him. “Am I keeping you from a good dream?”

“No, sir,” Dean mumbled, swiping a hand over his eyes.

“Good. Now, back to what I was saying …” his teacher turned and walked off, still talking.

“Are you all right?” Marty whispered.

“Yeah. Fine,” Dean said shortly.

Marty gave him a worried look that continued for the rest of class. Dean knew she was doing it, but he chose to ignore it.

“Did you sleep at all this weekend?” Marty asked at lunch.

Dean shoved his sandwich away from him. “Yeah. Sure, I did.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Dean,” Marty told him.

“I didn’t used to be,” Dean admitted. “Being with you’s killed that talent.”

“Sorry.” Marty grinned goofily at him. “So, what’s the real reason you’re so tired?”

Dean hesitated for a split second, long enough for Marty to notice, before he lied, “No reason.”

A quick nap in the nurse’s station revived Dean enough for his shift at the restaurant that night. His head chef was watching him even closer, giving him more pointers and more responsibilities.

“You really need your own knives,” Chef told Dean as they were leaving at closing time.

“I know,” Dean agreed. “I just can’t afford a set yet.”

“You’ll need to start saving for them,” Chef advised. “Especially if you’re going to CIA in fall.”

Dean ignored the flip his stomach did. CIA might be out of reach now since the idea of leaving Mary and Sam alone was really no longer an option, but he wasn’t telling his boss that.

“See you later, Chef,” Dean said hastily.

Chef gave Dean an odd look. “Night, Winchester.”

Pulling into his driveway, Dean sat for a minute, staring at the house. Mary had left the front porch light on for him. Inside the house, he knew the living room light was on and there was probably a plate of dinner leftovers in the microwave for him. Behind him in the house across the street, tucked into her bed under the new poster of the Eiffel Tower (replacing the “Keep Calm and Trust Jesus” poster), slept his lovely, red haired girlfriend. So, why did Dean have a horrible sense of anxiety that just wouldn’t go away? What was he so worried about?

Heading up the front steps, Dean stopped and turned around, surveying the street. It was quiet and peaceful, dimly lit with a handful of streetlights. Sighing, Dean turned the key in the lock.

“You need to settle the fuck down,” he told himself.

Once the door was closed and locked behind him and he’d checked all the other doors and windows, Dean took a shower and went to bed.

Hours later, a GMC Grand Sierra turned down the quiet street. The engine whined as the driver pulled up in front of the Winchesters’ house. The person behind the wheel was hulking and scruffy with disheveled greying brown hair and the sallow skin of someone who’d been indoors for a long time. He sat staring straight ahead out the windshield for a long time.

And then John Winchester looked up at the dark house where his family slept.


	45. Chapter 45

“Is March _ever_ going to end?” Marty asked Dean as he hung around the pizza counter. “It’s just constant cold and rain.”

“And wind. Don’t forget the wind.” Dean took a sip of his soda and glanced around the dining room.

“What are you looking for?” Marty demanded. “You’ve been watching the room all night long.”

Dean jerked his head toward Marty. “What? Nothing.”

Marty arched a sardonic eyebrow at her boyfriend before going over to take an order. Dean checked his phone, looking for a text from Sam. He had told Sam to text him as soon as Mom got home and now it was going on 5:23pm and Mom should have been home three minutes ago. Dean blow out a short, exasperated breath and texted Sam.

_where is she? she there?_

_who?_

_MOM_

_shes not_

_did you call her?_

_no_

_did you text her?_

_no_

_did you do anything to find her??!?_

Dean’s phone rang immediately.

“What’s wrong with you?” Sam demanded without saying hello. “She’s five minutes late. I’m not calling the cops over five fucking minutes.”

“Sammy, I know you think I’m crazy, but--” Dean began.

“No. No buts, Dean,” Sam interrupted. “I know you’re worried, but we’ll be fine. Everything’s fine.”

“Everything’s not fine!” Dean snapped through clenched teeth, turning away from the dining room and Ruby's curious glance. Right before he spun around, Dean saw Ruby snap her fingers at Marty and point at him. Great. Now he had to--no, Sam first. “He’s out, Sam. He’s out. Mom might be all cool and calm, but I’m not and I won’t let anything--”

“Dean? You’re yelling, hon. Can you take your call outside?” the pizza parlor owner, Anita, asked.

Dean at least had the wherewithal to look ashamed. “Sorry, Anita. I’m--I’m just wrapping up.”

Anita gave Dean a “Yeah, right” look as she pointed to the back exit. Dean stalked out the door to the parking lot behind the restaurant.

“Are you done yelling now?” Sam asked sarcastically.

“Not even a little bit,” Dean replied

“Well, I’m done fucking listening,” Sam told him. “And, lookie there: Mom just walked in the door. Say hi, Mom--”

“Sam, what on earth--” Dean heard Mary’s voice faintly through the phone.

“Okay. Gotta go.” Sam hung up.

“Sam? Sammy? Son of a bitch!” Dean clenched his phone in both fists. “You stupid assface motherfucking son of a whoring bi--”

“Dean?” Marty’s voice asked.

Dean froze in his rant. Turning slowly, Dean faced Marty, who was leaning out the back door.

“Pretty Eyes?” Marty came outside, holding her arms against the cold. “What’s going on with you? Why won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

Dean tucked his phone away and put his arms around Marty, pulling her to his chest and wrapping his jacket around her to keep her warm. Dean rested his chin on Marty’s head and sighed.

“I wish I could tell you, Ginger,” he murmured. “I do. But I can’t.”

Dean felt Marty sigh in his embrace. “You’re so infuriating.” She pulled away. “I have to go back to work and Anita wants you to leave.”

“But--” Dean began.

“Whatever you’re protecting me from isn’t here, Dean,” Marty told him, pausing as she went back inside. “And, unless you tell me what it is, I don’t want you to be here.”

“What?” Dean asked.

“You heard me.” Marty shot him a weary look. “Go home, Dean.”

Once she was gone, Dean shoved his hands into his pockets and slunk back to his car to drive home alone.

Mary and Sam were watching _Braveheart_ when Dean walked in. Mary smiled at him while Sam glared from behind her back and flipped him off.

“Screw you, Sam,” Dean said.

Mary snapped her head toward Sam, but his middle finger was already hidden away. Mary turned back to Dean, who was already out of the room and halfway up the stairs to his room.

“What’s wrong with your brother?” Mary asked Sam.

Sam shrugged, his hazel-green eyes wide with innocence. “I have no idea, Mom.”

Mary snorted and went back to the movie. “Go apologize.”

Sam put his hand on his chest, gaping at his mother. “But I haven’t done anything!”

“Yes, and I’m Queen of England.” Mary pointed out of the room without taking her eyes off Mel Gibson. “Now, go.”

“You’re the meanest mom ever,” Sam told her as he left the room.

Dean was sitting at his window, not reading the book in his lap, when Sam came in the room.

“You don’t knock anymore?” Dean asked.

“Not when I’m sent up to say say sorry because you were a douche, no,” Sam told him.

“That’s a hell of an apology, Sammy,” Dean said, not taking his eyes off the street.

“I don’t think I should have to,” Sam said, arms crossed, gangly legs akimbo. He was trying to look more fierce than he actually was.

Dean rolled his eyes and went back to his watching. Sam’s curiosity got the better of him and he came across the room to join Dean at the window.

“What are you looking at?” Sam asked, leaning against the glass so he could see directly down the street.

“I dunno, Sammy,” Dean replied, turning a page in the unread book in his lap. “I just--I have a bad feeling.”

Sam turned to look at his brother. “What kind of bad feeling? Like waiting for the other shoe to drop?”

Dean nodded. “That’s exactly how I feel.”

“We’re okay, Dean.”

“I wish I had your faith.”

Dean ignored his text alert as Sam sat on the edge of his desk to stare aimlessly out the window too.

“Who was that?” Sam pointed to Dean’s phone, sitting on the calendar blotter.

“Probably Benny. He wants to rebuild a Harley for his dad and wants me to help.” Dean leaned forward in his chair, closer to Sam.

“Really? You gonna do it?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged. “Probably. I’ve never done a bike before.”

The brothers sat comfortably for a while, talking about bikes and cars and their girls. Sam confessed that he still wasn’t 100% sure if he knew what he was doing with sex. Dean chuckled and reassured him that practice made perfect. Sam asked if Dean loved Marty and Dean answered ‘yes’ before Sam even finished the question. When pressed, Sam couldn’t confirm if he was in love with Ruby because, no matter how much she reassured Sam she loved him, Sam couldn’t help but wonder if Ruby was telling him the truth.

A pleasant lull fell between the brothers. Downstairs, they could hear Mary moving around, making herself a cup of tea. The streetlights flicked on, illuminating the misty rain.

“Do you like it here, Dean?” Sam asked quietly.

Dean thought for a while before answering.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I do.” Dean shrugged a little with one shoulder. “I didn’t when we first got here”

(“no, shit,” sam snorted, laughing.)

“but I got used to it,” Dean finished, shoving Sam’s knee.

“Marty helped, I bet,” Sam teased lightly.

“Yeah.” Dean smiled fondly. “She did.”

“You really love her.” Sam liked his brother like this. Calm and happy. And in love.

Dean chuckled. “You know I--”

The sound of a vehicle’s engine stopping in front of their house cut Dean off. The boys glanced at each other, then got up to look out the window at the same time.

“It’s the truck. The one from the scrimmage on Sunday,” Sam said, sounding confused and more than a little worried. “Dean, it’s--”

“Holy fuck,” Dean choked out.

“Dean?” Sam asked, sounding like a little boy.

A tall, burly figure started up the front walk at a fast clip. Dean froze. It wasn’t. It _couldn’t_ be.

“Dean?” Sam whispered, his voice shaking in fear.

_Knock, knock, knock._

“No!” The word tore its way out of Dean’s throat.

Dean burst out of his room and down the hallway. He hit the top of the steps just in time to see Mary open the front door.

_“Don’t do it, Mom!”_ Dean screamed. _“It’s him!”_

“What?” Mary opened the door and turned to face Dean at the same time.

The heavy wooden door shoved open, throwing Mary off balance, causing her to trip into the small table where she dropped her keys, and landing on the floor. Dean came down the stairs with Sam at his heels, but stopped when he heard the unmistakable click of a gun’s hammer being pulled back. Dean stepped in front of Sam as a shield, his arms out of either side, blocking his little brother.

“Hey, Mary,” John Winchester said, his voice low and rough from un-use. He leveled his gun at his wife, who was still sprawled backwards on the front hallway floor. “It’s good to see ya.”


	46. Chapter 46

Dean was never late for school, so when he and Sam didn’t come out of their house to drive the girls to school for the 3rd day in a row, Marty waited as long as she could before driving to Ruby’s to get her.

“Where are the boys?” Ruby asked as she got into Marty’s truck. “I’ve been texting Sam all night and he hasn’t answered.”

“Same with Dean,” Marty said, pulling onto the road to school. “Maybe they’re sick.”

“The flu is going around,” Ruby agreed. “But even if he was dying, I bet Sam would text me back.”

“You’re pretty confident about that,” Marty teased.

Ruby shrugged carelessly. “He loves me. He says it all the time. He won’t shut up about it, actually.”

“That’s screwed up, Ruby,” Marty told her.

“You sound like a disapproving grandma,” Ruby muttered, checking her phone again.

“Anything?” Marty asked.

Ruby shook her head and shoved her phone back into her purse. “Nothing.”

Marty sucked a little air in between her teeth as she parked the truck. Wordlessly, she and Ruby headed into school, promised to text if they heard from the boys, then parted.

“Miss Weber?”

Marty looked up from her book into the face of her AP English teacher.

“Yes?”

“May I see you in the hall?”

The class oooooo’ed as Marty followed her teacher into the hallway. Once out there and the door was closed, her teacher turned to her.

“Have you spoken to Dean?” he asked.

“No,” Marty answered. “I think he caught the flu. Why?”

“Because his father called the office this morning--”

Marty choked. “His what?”

“His father,” her teacher repeated. “He asked me to keep Dean’s work here and not send anyone home with it. I thought it was weird, but if you think he’s got the flu, I’m not surprised.”

But Marty hadn’t heard a word after the words ‘his father.’ It took all her strength to not run off to the office and call her mother.

“I don’t feel so well,” Marty said suddenly. “I need to go to the nurse.”

Her teacher looked at her oddly, but agreed to let her go. Grabbing her things, Marty ran to the first empty bathroom to call Deborah.

“Mama! Mama!” she cried as soon as Deborah picked up the phone.

“Why are you calling?” Deborah asked. “Aren’t you at school?”

“Mama! He’s there! He’s there! He’s at their house!” Marty shouted.

“What are you talking about?” Deborah demanded. “Who--oh, my dear god.”

“Yes!” Marty felt relieved that Deborah understood and she didn’t have to actually say it.

“I’m calling the police,” Deborah said.

“I’m coming home!” Marty said.

“No!” Deborah yelled. “You’re safer at school. And don’t you dare come home after. I don’t want you near here.”

“But, Mama--” Marty began.

“Damn it, girl! Listen to me!” Deborah yelled and hung up.

Marty stood, chilled to the bone with fear. The bell had rung, the halls were crowded and loud with students. She could hear them, talking, yelling and laughing. They were normal. They had no real worries. They had regular lives with regular events. They didn’t have a boyfriend and his mother and his brother being held hostage by his abusive, ex-convict father.

“Oh, Jesus.” Marty put her hands over her face and began sobbing.

After only a few minutes, Marty stopped crying as suddenly as she had started. No. She wiped her wet cheeks on the backs of her hands. There was no way she was going to spend her day crying in the toilet. Dean needed her. That was more important.

Slinging her messenger bag over her chest, Marty jammed her phone into the back pocket of her jeans and ran from the toilet. Pushing her way through the crowded hallway, Marty made her way to the exit.

“Where do you  think you’re going?” a teacher asked, touching her on the shoulder as she pushed open the door.

Marty spun around and froze him to the floor with a glare. “Home,” she growled. “I’m going home.”

Marty left him there. As she ran to her truck, she dialed 911.

“911, what is your emergency?” the operator asked.

“My boyfriend and his family are being held by their father. He’s abusive and was in prison,” Marty gasped into the phone.

“What is the address?” the operator asked.

When Marty gave it, the operator paused. She paused so hard, Marty _saw_ her pause.

“We’ve already had a call about that address,” the operator said. “With the same … report … hold on …” Marty heard paper shuffling and muffled, urgent voices. “Yeah, I got a call about that about 20 minutes ago.”

“Have you sent the police to their house?” Marty asked. “They’re the Winchesters, Mary, Dean, and Sam. And the man is John Winchester.”

“Yeah, I got that from the first caller. Police have been dispatched.”

“She has a restraining order against him!” Marty’s voice went up a few octaves. “Do you know that?” Coming across the parking lot was two teachers. Marty threw her truck into drive and screeched out of the lot, heading home. “He’s on parole! He can’t be out of Chicago!”

“We learned all this during the first call.” The operator paused again. “Are _you_ all right?”

“No,” Marty gasped as she turned onto her street. “I’m not.”

She only made it about halfway down the street before she was stopped by a police officer.

“Sorry, miss,” he said. “You can't go any further.”

“But--but I live down there.” Marty pointed down the street with her phone.

“You can’t go any further,” the officer repeated.

“My mother’s down there.” Marty couldn’t hide her shaking voice. Her phone started to ring.

“You’re going to have to vacate the road.”

“Vacate?” Marty squeaked out. “Oh, god.”

Looking out the windshield, Marty could see a news van parked down the street. Her phone stopped ringing, but then started again.

“So, I can’t get home but WFIE can get down there? What the hell is that bullshit?” Marty demanded.

The officer looked sheepish, stepped back, and waved her by. Marty finally answered her ringing phone.

“What the fuck is going on on your street?!” Ruby screamed into her ear.

“Ruby?”

“Yeah, it’s me, you insane bitch!” Ruby screamed. “What the hell is going on? Why are the cops there? What happened? _Why the fuck are the fucking cops in front of Sam’s fucking house?”_

“I gotta go, Ruby,” Marty said, pulling up the the curb. She was still four houses away from her house, but couldn’t get any closer.

“Don’t you fucking hang up--” Ruby screeched.

Marty hung up and got out of her truck. There was a blockade of police cars and police officers outside of the Winchesters’ house. The news van doors were open. Marty could see three people in there, working over keyboards. She tried to get by then, but she was spotted by a woman with unmovable TV hair, who hopped out of the van and scurried over to her. Marty ducked her head and tried to make it by, unsuccessfully.

“Hey! Hey! Honey!” the reporter called over. “Do you live here? Can I ask you a question?”

“No.” Marty tried to make a break for it.

“Mark! Mark! Over here!” the reporter yelled to the van, prompting one of the men to head over with a camera.

“Oh, shit,” Marty whispered and started to run. She made it to her front door. It was locked. “Mama! Let me in!” Curious police officers started over. Marty knocked even harder, then started ringing the bell. “Let me in!”

“Marty!” Deborah opened the door and pulled her in. The police officers came halfway up the steps. “It’s my daughter.”

“How did she get through?” one officer asked.

“This isn’t _Les Mis_ ,” Marty scoffed from over Deborah’s shoulder. “It’s not like I had to climb the barricade, Javert.”

“Go to the kitchen, Mary Martha,” Deborah snapped. Her voice and use of her proper name sent Marty running to the kitchen.

Marty waited at the table for Deborah to enter the room. When Deborah came in, she laid a gun Marty had never seen before on the counter. Marty looked at her mother with wide eyes.

“Mama?” she asked.

“It’s a .22,” Deborah told her. “I’ve had it since I was your age. Poppy gave it to me for my 18th birthday.”

“And all I got was a _watch_?” Marty asked, her voice weak.

Deborah met Marty’s eyes and their giggles were a little crazed.

“Where’s Daddy?” Marty asked once they calmed down.

“He’s at work.” Deborah sat down with Marty. “He can’t get through.”

“I got through,” Marty said.

“How did you do that?” Deborah asked.

“Shame,” Marty replied.

Deborah led Marty to the living room, where they turned on the TV to watch what was happening right outside their front door.

“Why haven’t they evacuated us?” Marty asked, going to the windows to look out.

The street was crowded with police cars and officers and even two ambulances. The ambulances made Marty’s stomach drop, but she didn’t leave her spot.

“Maybe they don’t think it’s enough of a threat,” Deborah answered. “Come away from the window, baby.”

“Mama, he’s over there,” Marty said. “He’s over there in that house, with them.”  
“I know, baby.” Deborah said. She walked up behind Marty and gave her a tug, trying to lead her back to the sofa. “Come on now.”

Marty held fast for a minute, then relented. She could hear her phone alternating between ringing and text alerts from Ruby. When she could no longer stand the noise, she turned her phone off.

“If you do that, she’s just going to start calling the house,” Deborah said calmly, prying Marty’s phone from her stiff fingers.

“Then you have to tell her what’s going on, Mama,” Marty said. “I just can’t bear to talk to her. She’s hysterical.”

“Can you blame her?” Deborah asked, holding Marty’s hands in hers. “The boy she loves is over there too.”

It wasn’t two seconds after Deborah said that when the house phone began to ring. Deborah sighed and picked the cordless up off the coffee table.

“Hello?” Deborah jerked her ear away from the receiver as Ruby’s shrill voice came out of the phone. “Ruby. Ruby! Calm down. Now, listen. Listen to me! We don’t know what’s happening. All we know is what’s on the news.”

“I don’t believe you!” Ruby screamed. Marty could hear the hysteria and the tears in her voice. “Marty knows what’s happening! Marty knows what’s going on! Tell me! Tell me! Tell--”

“Deborah? Are you there? It’s Linny,” Mrs. Schneider’s worried voice was next. “Donnie, please take Ruby into the other room.”

“Hello, Linny,” Deborah said. “I told Ruby--”

Marty went back to the window, crying. Nothing much had changed outside, but she couldn’t stop looking. Police milled around, some looked bored, some worried, but all of them were doing absolutely nothing.

“Do something,” Marty whispered fiercely at the glass. “Damn it. _Do something_.”

A sharp explosion made Marty scream. One more blast made Marty scream again. The SWAT officers ran up the front steps into the Winchesters’ house.

“Mama! Oh, my god, Mama!” Marty wept as Deborah whipped her around so she couldn’t see what happened next.


	47. Chapter 47

Marty still couldn’t believe what she had seen had actually happened.

Mary, Dean, and Sam Winchester emerged from their house, escorted by the SWAT officers. They were loaded into a waiting ambulance and driven away.

The next thing that came out of the Winchesters’ house was the body of John Winchester. Marty knew it was a body and not a living being because the amount of red spreading across the white sheet that covered him on the gurney was so … so … _much_ that there was no way anyone could survive it.

“Marty, baby, don’t look,” Deborah said softly, tugging at her gently.

Marty shook Deborah’s hand off her arm. “No, Mama. I have to look. I have to.”

“Baby …” Deborah began.

“Mama, that man ruined their lives for years,” Marty said, not taking her eyes off the gurney as it was lifted into the second ambulance. “I have to watch him be taken away.”

“All right,” Deborah agreed. She stood next to Marty on the top step of the porch, arms crossed, and watched as the ambulance containing the dead body of John Winchester, wife beater, child abuser, and convict, was taken away.

“Do you think they’ll be okay?” Marty asked Deborah as the two women turned to go back inside.

“I do,” Deborah said. “I don’t think it’ll be right away, but they will be. They’re the strongest family I know.”

Rumor, slander, and speculation runs rampant in a small town so Marty wasn’t surprised by the gossip-fest that greeted her the next day. Deborah had suggested she stay home from school--an idea that James, surprisingly, had agreed with--but Marty knew that if she didn’t show up, it would fuel even more conjecture than if she was there.

Whispers and silence followed her up and down the hallways, into classrooms, and definitely into the lunchroom, where she was the only one of the foursome at the table with the rest of the baseball team and auto shop guys.

“Don’t you worry, darlin’,” Benny told her. “We got your back if anyone says anything untoward.”

Letting go of the disbelief that a gearhead like Benny used the word ‘untoward’ correctly, Marty smiled at him.

“Thanks, Benny,” she said.

“Same goes for us,” Gabriel, who refused to be outdone, jumped in. “I’ll walk you to your next class.”

“No, Gabriel,” Marty shook her head. “I’m okay, really. Everyone just wants to know what’s going on and they’ll keep talking until they know the truth. Let’s not give them a ‘Marty and Gabriel’ rumor to add to the fire.”

“That’s the untoward I was talkin’ about,” Benny volunteered.

Marty laughed a little. “I had a feeling it might be.”

“Have you heard from Dean?” Benny asked.

Marty swallowed hard. “No. It’s only been a day and my parents don’t want me bothering them at the hospital.”

“Man, screw your parents, M-Mart,” Gabriel snorted. “Dean’s the love of your life. You should be at his bedside in a naughty nurse costume and stripper heels, making him” (Gabriel wiggled his brows salaciously) “feel better.”

Marty took a minute to digest this before snickering into her hand. The table relaxed around her, amused by her amusement.

“I’ll take that under advisement,” Marty told Gabriel.

“My idea, so I get first dibs on the sexy vids,” Gabriel teased.

“Gabriel, man,” Benny chortled, his broad chest vibrating.

The bell rang, sending the lunch table in different directions. Marty did end up walking to her next class with Gabriel, who was in a classroom near hers. He was expanding on the naughty nurse fantasy, something he’d obviously been thinking about for a few years. All he did was cast Marty as the naughty nurse.

“Bye, Gabe. Gotta go.” Marty ducked into her classroom to avoid the next scene Gabriel was about to describe.

The classroom quieted immediately as she walked in. Two girls who’d been watching something on a phone hid the phone away as she walked by.

“Hi, Mary Martha,” one said, smiling altogether too innocently.

“Hi,” Marty replied.

She took her desk, the one next to her void of Dean, trying to ignore all the eyes on her. On her other side, another girl turned to face her.

“Mary Martha,” she said in a whisper. “Did you hear on the news?”

“No,” Marty said shortly.

“Look, I’m not gossiping,” the other girl, Anna, said. “I hate gossips. But I saw this at lunch and I--I didn’t know if you knew.”

Anna passed her smartphone to Marty. A news clip was already cued up on the screen. Swallowing a sick feeling, Marty hit play.

It was a report from the noontime newscast. The woman who tried to stop Marty for answers was standing outside the hospital, telling the whole world that the Winchesters were being released from the hospital after 24 hours of observation. Their assailant, John Winchester, had been killed at the scene by the SWAT team after sustaining two superficial gunshot wounds from one of his family members.

“Oh, my god,” Marty whispered, horrified. One of them had shot John Winchester? Twice? That had to be the explosions she’d heard before the SWAT officers burst into the house.

Marty handed Anna’s phone back with shaking hands. Anna was watching her, the other girl’s face concerned and her eyes full of tears.

“I’m so sorry you had to hear it from me,” Anna said. “Or her, really.”

“That’s okay, Anna,” Marty reassured her, but her white face and wide, staring eyes was hardly reassuring.

Their teacher started class, but Marty didn’t hear a thing. She didn’t even bother to take her book out. Marty just stared at the whiteboard with unseeing eyes for 45 minutes. The rest of the day went about the same.

Leaving school, Marty tried to make herself as invisible as possible. She ducked her head down against the wind and the stares of the other students. Once she’d tucked herself into her truck, Marty dialed Deborah.

“Did you know that they’re coming home today?” she asked when Deborah picked up the phone.

“I saw that on the news,” Deborah replied. “I’m making them suppers for the next few days.”

“I’ll be home to help,” Marty said immediately, throwing her truck into gear.

“Please drive safely, baby,” Deborah said worriedly.

Marty hung up and roared home like her life depended on it. She found Deborah up to her elbows in biscuits.

“Need help, Mama?” Marty asked quietly, coming around the counter to Deborah’s side.

Deborah wrapped her arms around Marty, careful not to touch her with floury hands. Marty buried her face in Deborah’s shoulder.

“Mama, I’m so scared for them,” Marty admitted.

“He’s dead, Marty,” Deborah said. “He can’t hurt them anymore.”

“One of them shot him,” Marty said.

“I know.”

“Who do you think did it?”

“Mary Martha Weber, are you serious about this?”

Marty hung her head. “Sorry, Mama.”

Deborah let go of her daughter. “Stir that soup.”

James came home to find the counter lined with Tupperware containers of food. He seemed pleased at the volume of food.

“Which one is for supper?” he asked, pleased.

“We’re having leftovers,” Deborah told him. “This is for the Winchesters.”

“All _this_?” James asked, gesturing over the dozen containers.

“Yes,” Deborah replied, snapped a lid over a bowl of tossed salad. “I don’t think Mary will have the energy to cook after her ordeal.”

James looked annoyed until Deborah’s angry glare and Marty’s devastated eyes stopped him in his tracks. He sighed.

“I agree,” he said. “We’ll bring it all over together when they get home.”

Marty passed on dinner. Her stomach was a knot of emotions and any kind of food would definitely make a reappearance. She sat, shivering, on the porch swing, waiting for a car to pull up, bringing the Winchesters home.

The quiet engine of a police car approached. Marty stood up, holding her coat tighter around her to block out the cold. Mary stepped out of the front seat. She looked exhausted. Sam and Dean climbed out of the back. Marty could see their battered faces from where she was. The police officer walked Mary to her front door, followed by the boys, and the four of them went inside.

 _They’re here._ Turning to the door, Marty called into the house, “Mama, Daddy, they’re here.”

“Marty, come inside,” Deborah said. “Let them get settled.”

“Hello, sweetie.” Marty’s text alert went off. It was Dean.

_i see you there_

Marty’s hands shook as she typed her reply. _i’m hardly hiding_

_give us a little while, ok?_

_whenever you’re ready. mama and i made ya’ll food for a month_

There was a few minutes’ pause, so Marty assumed Dean was done talking for a while until she got:

_mom says come over now. and sam says bring the food._

_who come over?_

Long pause.

_all of you. warning: me and sammy look pretty fucked up_

Armed with 10 days’ worth of food, the Webers crossed the street with Marty leading the way. They waited as Mary unlocked the door and let them all in.

“Hi,” Mary said. She was white as a sheet and her lovely blue eyes were rimmed red from exhaustion. “Come in.”

“Thank you,” James said awkwardly. He seemed incredibly nervous and out of place. “I hope you don’t mind us coming over.”

“I invited you,” Mary replied, her voice a little sharper than usual.

“Marty and I made you some meals, Mary,” Deborah said unnecessarily as Mary walked them to the kitchen. “I didn’t know if you felt like cooking.”

“Did you make tuna noodle casserole again?” Sam’s voice asked. “I really liked that.”

Deborah turned to answer Sam, but faltered, her voice strangling in her throat. Sam’s face was a mess of bruises and healing cuts. One eye was blackened. There was a butterfly bandage across the bridge of his nose. But, because he was Sam, he was smiling as well as his battered face would let him.

Dean was another story. His whole face looked like someone used it for boxing practice. His left eyes was completely swollen shut while the other one was black. The sclera of his open eye was tinged with broken veins, making it look like the white of his eye was red. Both sides of his full lips were ragged, like someone had jammed their fingers into his mouth and fish hooked him on either side. One cheekbone was stitched closed and there were hand prints around his neck like he’d been choked. Dean moved like every part of his body was made of glass.

“Dean,” Marty breathed.

“You should see the other guy,” he slurred. Talking with his broken lips obviously hurt.

“Should you even be home?” James asked, putting down his armful of Tupperware.

“No, he shouldn’t,” Mary answered for Dean. “But he’s 19 and he left against doctor’s orders.” Mary sighed and glared at her oldest son “No one could convince him otherwise.”

“Oh, Pretty Eyes,” Marty gasped, heading over to him. Dean held out one arm since the other was in a sling. “What did he do to you?”

“Everything I wouldn’t let him do to Mom and Sam,” Dean replied.

“Don’t talk,” Mary told him. “Everyone please sit down. The Schneiders are on their way over too.”

“What?” Marty gasped. “But, Ruby--”

“They need to know everything too, because of Ruby,” Mary said.

The boys nodded in agreement and the Winchesters and Webers waited in silence for the other family to arrive.


	48. Chapter 48

A knock on the door signaled the Schneiders’ arrival and Mary let them in. Ruby rushed into the room first, took one look at Sam and Dean, and burst into tears. Sam went to her and held her while she cried.

“Oh, my god! Sam! My poor Sam,” Ruby sobbed. “I was so worried! No one told me anything and Marty--” Ruby turned to shout at Marty but stopped when she saw Dean. “Sweet god … Dean …”

Dean waved at her, showing off his wrecked knuckles.

“Are you safe now?” Pastor Schneider asked, sitting down on the couch next to the Webers and his wife. Mary and Sam were standing in front of them with Ruby still in Sam’s arms while Dean and Marty sat on the loveseat.

“John Winchester is dead,” Mary told them all. “The officers shot him.” Her voice was clear and clinical. Marty was sure Mary was using her “at work” voice, the one she used when running her oncology ward. “He was wounded when they shot him, but they killed him.” Mary glanced across the room. “Right there, next to the counter.”

“What happens now?” Deborah asked.

Mary closed her eyes briefly, swallowed, and went on, “Nothing. There won’t be any charges filed against--anyone because John Winchester was shot in self defense.”

“Obviously self defense,” James said, sounding both concerned and pompous. “I don’t understand how all this came about.”

The Winchesters exchanged a glance that Mary and Sam shared with Deborah and Marty. Dean caught the look between Sam and his girlfriend.

“You know?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Marty admitted. “Sam told me.”

“How long have you known?” Dean asked.

“Known what?” Ruby asked.

“About two months,” Marty answered.

“Known what?” Ruby asked louder.

“And you never told me?” Dean would have probably sounded shocked if his voice wasn’t hampered by his injured mouth.

“Known what?” Ruby asked angrily. “What does everyone know but me?”

Mary turned to Ruby. “John Winchester abused Dean and me. That’s why he went to prison and that’s why I divorced him and that’s why he was here. Paybacks.” That silenced Ruby’s questions. Mary then turned back to the room. “The reason that I moved us from Chicago in the first place was because he was due up for parole and I had it on good authority he would be getting released. I didn’t want us to be there when he did, so we came down here.”

“Oh,” the listening adults said at the same time.

Mary took a deep breath and began to tell The Big Winchester Family Secret.

While Mary spoke, Dean felt Marty’s eyes on him. Since Marty already knew the secret, she must have decided to turn her attention to his destroyed face. Out of the corner of his eye, Dean watched Marty scan him up and down, trying to guess what the rest of him looked like since his visible injuries were so severe.

“Four broken ribs,” Dean whispered to her before she could ask. “That’s why my arm’s tied up.”

“I figured,” Marty said. “What else?”

Dean shh’ed her, turning his attention to his mother and her story, but his free arm squeezed Marty around the shoulders.

When Mary was done talking, the room was silent except for Linny Schneider’s quiet crying. It’s one thing to hear about abuse on TV; it’s another thing altogether to be sitting in the living embodiment of its living room.

“We should pray,” Pastor Schneider suggested.

“Go right ahead,” Mary said. “But I won’t be joining in.”

“Thanks all right, Mary,” Pastor Schneider said. “Just know this is for you and your sons.”

“Mm-hm,” Mary commented noncommittally, crossing her arms over herself.

Ruby joined her parents by sitting on the coffee table in front of them. Marty hesitated for about 30 seconds before joining Ruby on the table. The girls grasped the hands of their parents and closed their eyes. Mary sat down next Dean, one hand on his uninjured wrist while Sam perched on the arm of the loveseat next to her.

“Jesus, our Lord,” Pastor Schneider began, “please help your daughter Mary and her sons Samuel and Dean find the strength to heal from this horrible ordeal--”

Dean tuned Ruby’s father out. He didn’t need anybody’s strength to heal except for his own. When John Winchester realized that he couldn’t bully his sons around anymore because they were just as big as he was, he’d gotten even meaner. John Winchester had only been able to get two hits on Mary before Dean was pulling him off his mother, sinking his teeth into the older man ‘s neck.

“Look at you, big man,” John Winchester sneered after he threw Dean off and to the floor. “You wanna take her beating?”

Dean clambered to his feet, fists raised. “Fuck you.”

“Dean, stop it!” Mary burst out while Sam dragged her away as John Winchester attacked Dean. “Let go of me, Sam!”

“No!” Sam threw himself between Mary and the fighting men.

It didn’t take too long for John Winchester to overpower Dean. Pinning his eldest son to the floor by sitting on his chest with his knees on his arms, John Winchester pummeled Dean’s face to minced meat while Mary screamed at him to stop. Sam jumped on John Winchester’s back to help his brother and was rewarded with two elbows back into his ribs. Sam gasped and rolled onto the floor, clutching his sides.

“John, stop!” Mary screamed, launching herself across the room. “Right now! Stop it!”

John Winchester stopped beating on Dean long enough to point his gun at Mary as he wrapped his other hand around Dean’s throat.

“Try me, Mary,” John Winchester told her. “Try me and I'll squeeze his fucking life away.”

Mary slunk back to the sofa, her bravery and strength giving out in that instant. And so began the three days of near-constant torment and cruelty. John Winchester acted like he’d been there all along, ordering Mary around while keeping Sam and Dean in line simply by pointing his gun at their mother. No one slept, they barely ate, and Dean was John Winchester’s favorite punching bag.

John Winchester was so sure and cocky in his power, it was his idea that he be the one to call the boys’ high school about their homework. And that was his mistake. It was during that phone call that Mary’s gun was retrieved and hidden between the sofa cushions. It was that phone call that clued Marty in on their predicament. It was that phone call that prompted two 911 calls to come rescue the Winchesters. If John Winchester had never made that phone call, it would have been days longer before someone figured out that something was really, really wrong at the Winchesters’ house.

When the first police car showed up, John Winchester got nervous. It was when the the second, third, and fourth cars arrived that John Winchester’s panic set in. He stood by the front door, staring out the long and narrow windows on either side of the door, tapping his gun against his thigh. It was when he was there that Mary’s gun came into play for the three other Winchesters.

“Hey!”

John Winchester spun around to see a gun pointed at him. The gun shook, but it was definitely trained on him.

“What are you gonna do with that?” John Winchester asked.

“Kill you,” Sam replied. “I’m gonna shoot you right in the fucking face.”

“You wouldn’t dare, Sammy,” John Winchester said.

“He's the only one who gets to call me that,” Sam said, jerking his head toward Dean, who was laying on the floor while Mary held his head in her lap.

“Then shoot me, _Samuel_ ,” John Winchester sneered, holding his arms out. “Shoot me.”

Sam hesitated. John Winchester let out a mirthless laugh as he turned back to the window and the cops outside.

“Fucking pussy,” he said.

“John!” Sam shouted.

John spun at his name, jerking his gun up, and Sam pulled off the first shot. The bullet caught John Winchester in the upper arm.

“Goddamn it!” John Winchester howled.

He advanced on Sam, who took three or four running steps back before pulling the trigger again, this time hitting John Winchester in the shoulder. John Winchester staggered, grabbing his injured arm, giving Sam enough time to run over and stand over his mother and brother. John Winchester followed him for a few steps before the front door burst open, letting in a streaming line of SWAT officers. John Winchester swung around to face them, gun outstretched in his injured arm.

“Drop the gun!” one officer shouted.

“Sam! Get down!” Mary yanked on her youngest son, bringing him to her knees next to her, then covered both Sam and Dean with herself.

“Drop the gun!” echoed through the house again.

Two shots rang out, causing Mary and her boys to shout in fear, followed by the thud of John Winchester’s body hitting the floor.

Dean shook his head. He didn’t want to remember anything after that. Not the ride in the ambulance. Not the night in the hospital. None of it. He just wanted to get over the whole fucking thing and be himself again.

But, right now? Right now, Dean really just wanted Pastor Schneider to stop praying.


	49. Chapter 49

Dean and Sam weren’t fully healed for months after that. Going back to school, wearing their bruises like badges of honor, Dean with his arm strapped to his chest to stabilize his busted ribs, made them like gods. Everyone knew what happened. Everyone had seen the reports. Only one question was going unanswered:

Who shot John Winchester before the cops got in there?

Dean knew. Sam knew. Marty knew. Ruby knew.

None of them were telling.

All things considered, Dean and Sam were offered postponed final exams, but both of them refused. Sam didn’t want it to look bad on the applications he was filling out and Dean needed them so he could send them off to the CIA, along with two letters of glowing praise from his head chef and trainer chef respectively. By the time the September enrollment date came around, Dean would have nine months of experience in a professional kitchen, three more months than required. Not only that, a recommendation from his head chef, an alumni of the New York campus, was pretty impressive.

“Where you applying to now, Sammy?” Dean asked, leaning over his brother. The kitchen counter was strewn with papers and pamphlets and college books.

“Stanford,” Sam replied without looking up from the essay he was writing longhand.

Dean’s brow furrowed. “Stanford? In California?”

“It’s the only one I know of,” Sam said, scratching the back of his head. “C’mon, man. Go bother someone else.”

“But you’re the only one here,” Dean said, plopping down next to Sam. “Tell me why Stanford.”

Sam looked up at his brother. “I want to be a lawyer.”

Dean made a face. “Really?”

Sam sighed, exasperated, giving up on his essay. He knew Dean wasn’t going away until all his questions were answered, so it was easier just to play along.

“Yes, Dean, a lawyer,” Sam replied. “So fuckers like John Winchester can’t just waltz out of prison on good behavior.”

Dean swallowed. He tried to speak, but nothing came out but a croak. Clearing his throat, Dean tried again.

“I like it,” he managed to get out. “Good for you, Sammy. I’ll let you--you get to it.”

“Instead of bothering me next time, why don’t you go pick up your tux for prom tomorrow night,” Sam suggested as Dean walked away.

Dean cringed visibly before slinking out the door to his car. With Dean gone, Sam smiled smugly and turned his attention back to his work.

“You look beautiful,” Dean told Marty as she came down the stairs the following night.

And she did. In a dress that brought out the blue-green in her hazel eyes and her hair spilling down her back in soft red curls, Marty looked more like a woman and less like a little girl playing dress-up. The heart shaped top was covered with sparkles and was doing a lot for the amount of cleavage Deborah and James were letting her get away with.

“You look beautiful too,” Marty said, meaning it.

Dean’s bruises had faded and his ribs had healed. The only physical reminder of the end of The Big Winchester Family Secret was the white scar Dean still had on his cheekbone. The plastic surgeon who repaired the faces of the three Winchesters said that Dean would carry the scar, however faint, for the rest of his life. Dean didn’t mind. He wore it proudly.

“Where’s Sam and Ruby?” Marty asked.

“Coming over with Mom,” Dean replied. “Have you seen Ruby’s dress?”

“What dress?” Marty giggled. “She keeps calling it The Belt.”

“Her father should put her in a belt,” Deborah teased, coming into the room armed with her camera. “Now pose and smile.”

James hovered in the background, unsure of what to do. He’d been against prom as much as he’d been against everything else for the past 10 months, but his opinion mattered little to the Weber women. After a while, James realized all his Scripture quoting was driving his family away from him and he’d toned everything down from a bluster to a grumble.

“How do I look, Daddy?” Marty asked her father.

Dean looked at James, wondering how the man would answer her. You never knew what kind of response you’d get from him. James met Dean’s eyes as he answered Marty.

“You look lovely,” he said evenly.

Marty grinned. That was enough for her. Dean shook his head ever so slightly at James.

_Phoney,_ Dean thought as the front door swung open enthusiastically.

“Who’s ready for some dry chicken and bad music?” Ruby whooped as she entered the room. She was followed by Sam, Mary, and her parents, all of whom looked pained.

“What’s the matter?” Dean asked his brother.

“She keeps tromping on my feet in those heels,” Sam hissed at him.

“Don’t worry, man,” Dean reassured him. “She’ll have them off soon.”

“More pictures!” Linny Schneider called out happily, posing the foursome as two couples facing each other.

While the parents readied cameras and mobile phones, the friends switched places so Ruby and Marty posed together and Sam and Dean posed together. Sam and Dean switched places a few times hastily, trying to figure out who should stand in front according to height. Sam, by virtue of the three inches he had on his elder brother, got to stand in the back.

“What are you chuckleheads doing?” Pastor Schneider laughed upon seeing the joke.

“What?” Sam asked innocently.

Laughing, the parents took their pictures of the joke obligingly, then put them back the “right way.” Ruby made a face.

“Boy-girl, boy-girl. How boring,” she yawned.

Dean saw the I’m About to Start a Lecture look flit across Pastor Schneider’s face, so he grabbed Marty’s hand.

“Time to go!” he announced, tugging her out the door.

The parents followed them out, shouting good byes and curfews and warning against temptation (thanks, James!). Dean had spent most of the day shining his car to a sinfully black glow and it roared like a dragon as he pulled out of the driveway.

“Did you see Jim, Marty?” Ruby asked from the backseat. “He looked like he wanted to throw a Bible at you.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Marty snorted. “And how did your parents let you out of the house in that dress? It’s so short!”

  
“They didn’t see it until it was time to go,” Ruby giggled.

“Wicked,” Sam commented, tracing designs on Ruby’s very exposed legs.

“No more sex in my car,” Dean ordered.

“ _One_ time! We did it _one_ time!” Sam argued.

“Yeah, at a dance,” Dean added. “Let’s keep it at one time.”

The Winchester prom table looked remarkably like the Winchester lunch table with a heady mix of baseball jocks and auto shop gearheads. None of them seemed to care, though. Benny led a toast that had them all crying into their dry chicken, followed by Gabriel’s toast which had them crying for a different reason.

“What did you just do?” Dean asked Marty when she came back from the DJ table.

“Nothing.” Marty grinned.

“You’re a terrible liar,” Dean told her.

“Damn,” Marty commented. “And I used to be so good at it.”

“Another request,” the DJ announced as the requested slow song he’d been playing ended. “To Pretty Eyes from Ginger.”

Dean’s cheeks flamed red as the table ribbed him over his nickname. Marty grabbed his arm and pulled him to the dance floor. She wrapped herself into his arms and Dean sighed, relieved that she’d requested a slow song. That relief lasted about five seconds until the opening chords of Joan Jett’s _Do You Wanna Touch Me?_ blared out of the speakers.

“Really?” Dean asked Marty, who burst out laughing at his face.

“What?” Marty replied, moving her hips against him seductively. “I thought it was our song.”

“We need a different song for being in public,” Dean said painfully as Marty’s dance moves had her desired effect on him.

The night wore on. A King and Queen were crowned (Dean had another moment of relief when the DJ turned “De” into “Dan” and called some other sap’s name). Ruby was crowned Queen solely on the merits of her dress Dean was sure and it wasn’t long before Sam was wearing her tiara while ruby wore his bowtie. When it was all finally over, Dean found himself in the car with a tiara-wearing Sam, a shoeless Ruby, and Marty, who’d stolen three of the table centerpieces.

“What the hell are you going to do with them?” Dean asked her.

“One each for your mom, my mom, and Ruby’s mom,” Marty replied.

“Just don’t get glitter all over the place,” Dean grumbled.

Two weeks after prom was graduation. Dean wasn’t sure that he’d ever see that day actually happen for him. When he mentioned it to Mary, her face fell a little.

“You’re so smart, angel,” Mary said. “Why don’t you give yourself any credit?”

Dean shrugged. His green cap and gown were laying across the table, along with his gold National Honor Society cord and tassel.

“Yeah, didn’t you know, Mom?” Sam asked, straightening his tie as he entered the room. “Only morons get into National Honor Society.”

Dean glared at his little brother. “Shut up, Sammy.”

“Time to go,” Mary snapped. “Now, for crap’s sake, stop fighting already. Let’s go do this thing and pretend we’re one big happy family.”

Sam and Dean snickered at Mary as they left, taking two separate cars so Dean and Marty could go out after with the rest of their graduating friends (and Sam).

“What are you _wearing_?” Marty asked at the same time she kissed him hello.

“Hello, _schöne augen_!” Granny Albrecht called over, waving to Dean.

“Hey, Granny!” Dean called back before answering Marty, “Tee shirt and jeans. What are _you_ wearing under that gown?”

“A dress, like I was supposed to,” Marty replied. “You’re supposed to wear a shirt and tie.”

“No pants?” Dean asked.

“You’re infuriating,” Marty groaned. “Oh, my crap. Are you wearing _Docs_?”

“I’m not changing my whole personality for one night,” Dean told her. “We’re gonna be hot and uncomfortable and have to listen to a shit-ton of speeches. If I wanna wear jeans, I’m gonna wear jeans. What are they gonna go? Not let me graduate?”

“Knowing this school?” Marty commented as they lined up to walk out to the football field. “Yes.”

Dean was right, of course. They all were hot and uncomfortable and had to listen to a shit-ton of speeches. When the students finally started getting called to accept their diplomas, Dean, Marty, Ruby, Sam, Benny, and Gabriel had a six-way text chat happening just to stay sane. Gabriel and Benny were among the first called because of their last names (Forrester, Gabriel and Lafitte, Benjamin), leaving the S’s and W’s to flounder at the end.

“If Gabriel sends me one more selfie with his diploma, I’m gonna get up and kill him,” Marty told Dean as she fanned her sweating legs with her graduation gown.

“Someone getting cranky?” Dean teased.

“It’s too hot for this shit,” Marty grumbled.

“Don’t you wish you wore shorts?” Dean asked,  leaning back in his chair.

“Don’t I wish you’d shut up?” Marty shot back.

“Shhh!” Dean told her. “Here comes Ruby.”

“Ruby Lilith Schneider,” the principal called.

“Is that really Ruby’s name?” Dean asked as they cheered.

“Yeah,” Marty replied. “What’s your middle name?”

“I don’t have one,” Dean said. “Neither does Sam.”

“How is that possible?” Marty asked.

Dean shrugged. “Dunno. Ask my mom.”

“Mary Martha Weber,” the principal finally announced.

Marty accepted her diploma to the cheers of her family and friends, included Gabriel, who waited for near quiet to shout “She’s called _Marty_!” which set off a chain-reaction of laughter amongst the clique.

“Dean Winchester,” the principal called.

Stone-faced, Dean took his diploma and shook the principal’s hand. Benny and Gabriel wolf-whistled for him at the same time while Dean heard Sam’s big mouth shouting his name from the audience. Flipping the bird in the general direction of Gabriel and Benny brought down derisive hisses from Gabriel and a guffaw from Benny.

When the ceremony was finally over, the graduates flung their caps in the air and then ducked. What goes up, must come down and the corners of the mortarboards were sharp. Pushing through the crowds of family and students, Dean followed the giant beacon that was his ridiculously tall baby brother to find Mary. Catching his mother up in a bear hug, Dean kissed her wet cheeks.

“Are you crying?” Dean asked her.

“No,” Mary lied scornfully. She wiped her cheeks with a tissue and smiled up at her son. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Me too,” Sam chimed in.

“You deserve it, angel,” Mary added.

“We all deserve it,” Dean said, deflecting praise.

Mary opened her mouth to scold him, but closed it abruptly, choosing to smile instead.

“So, what are you kids doing tonight?” she asked.

“Drugs. And booze. And we may knock over a bank,” Dean answered.

“You didn’t tell her about the human trafficking, did you?” Gabriel asked, coming up behind Dean.

“No!” Dean rolled his eyes. “But she knows _now_.”

“We’re gonna get dinner, ma’am,” Benny answered Mary politely. “Then we’re probably gonna go hang out at English Park.”

“Thank you, Benny,” Mary said. She shot Dean and Gabriel her terrifying Mom Look. “Sass-mouths.”

“You ruin all our fun, you big Boy Scout,” Gabriel accused Benny.

“C’mon! Let’s go!” Ruby cried, running up behind them. She yanked her graduation gown over her head, nearly taking the sundress underneath off with it. “I’m starving and I just can’t kiss any more aunts!”

Marty joined the group with Sam in tow a few minutes later, having rescued him from being loved to death by Granny Albrecht. Dean put her arm around her, smiling.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let me lose this thing,” Marty said, unzipping her gown and stepping out of it.

“It has a zipper?” Ruby looked at the crumpled up fabric in her hand. “I didn’t notice.”

“Thank god you didn’t,” Gabriel joked.

After piling the closest mother (Mary) with all their graduation gowns, the gang collected the rest of the party-goers in their group and headed off to pick up dinner. The rag-tag line of cars covered in streamers and handwritten messages on the windows was lead by Dean’s long black car, which was completely unadorned.

Four stops at four different restaurants later, the newly graduated (except Sam) took over the picnic tables, yelling, laughing, and sharing food. Dean sat on one of the tables with Marty sitting on the bench between his legs, her head resting on his knee. His fingers tangled in her long red hair as she laughed at a wildly overblown baseball anecdote as performed by Gabriel and Sam.

“Ginger?” Dean asked. “Walk with me?”

Holding hands, they walked the sidewalk they had on their first date. Dean thought it was too corny to mention, but he could tell Marty wanted to talk about it.

“Bring back any memories?” Dean asked.

“Not really,” Marty teased, her eyes sparkling.

“Brat.” Dean swatted Marty on the butt, bringing on giggles. They walked to the boat launch, where Marty kicked off her sandals and waded in. Watching her stand there, water lapping around her ankles, Dean’s stomach dropped. She was leaving for college in only a few weeks and, with his work schedule at the restaurant, he was hardly going to see her.

“Dean, I--” Marty turned around. She saw his face and came over to him. “What’s wrong?”

“You leave for college soon,” Dean told her.

“I know.” Marty put her arms around him, placing her chin on his chest and looking up at him. “Is that the reason for the face?”

“Yeah,” Dean replied. “I’m gonna miss your face.”

“I’m gonna miss your face too.” Marty reached up and brushed the scar on his cheekbone, a habit she’d recently started. “You know we can text and Skype and Facetime and all that shit, right?”

“Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to be comforting you,” Dean told her.

“Yeah? Then how come I’m not the one crying?” Marty caught the single tear that was escaping from Dean’s eye just as it hit his cheek.

“I’m not crying,” Dean argued lamely.

“We’re gonna be okay, Dean,” Marty assured him. “I swear it. We’re gonna be great.”


	50. Chapter 50

**EPILOGUE**

Marty rushed into her room, flinging her coat and messenger bag off. She only had 4 minutes until her Skype date with Dean and she was running late, as usual.

“Better hurry,” her roommate, Meg, said lazily from her spot on the floor, where she was tanning in the weak, late Autumn sun coming in the window. “Your unicorn is waiting.”

“Shut up, Meg,” Marty said, smiling. Meg was all sharp angles and attitude, but she was a good roommate and fiercely protective of Marty.

Flipping open her laptop, Marty signed into Skype. Dean had already called once, so she dialed him.

“Hey, Ginger.” Dean’s beautiful face filled up the screen.

“Hey, Pretty Eyes.” Meg made gagging sounds, so Marty grabbed her computer and headed into the bathroom for a little privacy.

“One time I want to talk when she’s not there,” Dean griped, repeating his oft-repeated gripe. “Not that I don’t love talking to you while you sit on the toilet.”

“It’s not like I’m pissing,” Marty said. “Anyway. How’ve you been?”

“Good.” Dean smiled. “I miss you.”

“Ach, you nerd,” Marty replied. “I miss you too.”

“So, in class …” Dean let the mushy part of the conversation go by and started talking.

Sitting on the bathroom floor in her dorm room, Marty laughed at his story. Dean’s stories were always funny. There was a cast of characters like Marty had never met before peppered through them all--Sexy Balthazar (who got all the girls _and_ guys), Motherly Jodie (the middle aged woman starting over after losing her husband and son), Awkward Cas (cute and scruffy who never knew when someone was joking or not), Surly Bobby (his nickname gave it all away), Jerkoff Michael (who treated everyone like they were beneath him), and etc.

Despite all their best efforts, Marty and Dean had not yet been able to get together, even on a quick weekend trip. Admittedly, “quick weekend trip” was nearly impossible with their course loads and lack of cars. Plus, a 17 hour (one way) trip isn’t exactly a hop, skip, and jump away. It was looking more and more like Thanksgiving was going to the first visit since they’d both started school.

Dean pursed his lips, cutting off his story. Marty knew that look. God, she missed that look.

“What?” she asked.

“Show me,” Dean said.

“You’re wicked.”  
“I’m horny and you’re sexy. Now show me. Please.”

Marty flashed him, making Dean groan.

“I hate being this far away from you.”

“Me too,” Marty whispered, biting her bottom lip. That was one of the hardest things about not seeing Dean: the lack of physical contact. Marty cleared her throat. “So, are you coming home for Thanksgiving?”

Dean’s budget was pulled tight, tighter than hers. Dean made a face.

“I’m hoping,” he said.

“I’m not the only one who misses you,” Marty said.

Dean shot her an annoyed look. “I’m well aware of who else misses me.”

“I’m sorry,” Marty said immediately.

“Flash me again and I’ll forgive you.” Dean’s green eyes sparkled.

“Brat.” Marty blushed.

“Have you talked to your dad?” Dean asked.

Marty’s jaw set. “Not since the last time. You know, when he called me a whore.”

“He didn’t--” Dean began.

“He might as well have.”

“He misses you too.”

Marty arched an eyebrow at him. “And you know this for a fact?”

“No,” Dean admitted. “It’s all conjecture.”

“Is that the beautiful Mary Martha Weber?” Balthazar’s handsome face loomed over Dean’s shoulder. Marty smiled for his benefit and waved.

“Hi, Balth,” she said.

“Oh, my lovely Titian goddess.” Balthazar shoved Dean’s head out of the way, holding it sideways at an awkward angle,  so he could get in the shot better. “When are you going to dump this loser and run away with me? Paris. Milan. Constantinople. Anywhere you want to go.”

Marty burst out laughing. “I didn’t think it was called Constantinople anymore.”

“When you have as much money as Balthazar, you can call Istanbul “Constantinople” all you want. Don’t you have class?” Dean asked, shoving Balthazar’s hand off his head.

Balthazar blew Marty a kiss and walked off, singing They Might Be Giants’ _Istanbul (Not Constantinople)_. Dean stretched his neck back and forth to get the feeling back in it.

“I really want to meet him,” Marty told Dean.

“Come to San Antonio and you can,” Dean replied.

“You know I can’t,” Marty said, feeling a blush of sadness course through her.

“Thanksgiving then?” Dean asked.

Marty nodded. “Yes. Definitely.”

“Good." Dean glance down, then back up at her, eyes sparkling. "I have something to give you.”

Marty brightened. “A present?”

“Yeah.” Dean smiled. “Wanna hint?”

Marty clapped her fingers together. “Of course I want a hint!”

Dean laughed a little and shifted in his seat to dig into his pocket.

“Hang on.” Dean put his tablet down on the couch and suddenly Marty was staring at the ceiling of his room. “All right,” Marty heard Dean say. The scene on her screen swung around and there was Dean again, grinning that wicked Winchester grin that always spelled trouble.

“Where’s my hint, naughty man?” Marty asked.

“I have class in about 15 minutes,” Dean taunted.

“Dean Winchester! Don’t you do this!” Marty cried as she watched Dean playfully threaten to end their Skype.

“Want your hint?” Dean asked again.

“Tell me now!” Marty demanded, smiling.

“As soon as I show you, I’m signing off,” Dean warned. His grin was so wide, it could split his face in two.

“Oh, just show me!” Marty shrieked, her hands over her face, beside herself with the teasing.

“Look.”

Marty uncovered her eyes and saw Dean. On the screen on her laptop. Grinning. Holding a small, velvet box.

“What?” Marty gasped, clapping her hands over her mouth.

“Bye, Ginger.”

_"What?"_ Marty gasped again from behind her hands.

Winking, Dean clicked off his connection, leaving Marty sitting in her dorm’s bathroom with her hands over her mouth, her eyes wide, and heart thudding.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much, everyone, for coming on this *really long* journey with me. When I started this story, I had no idea it was going to turn into the 50 chapter epic that it did. I'm loathe to let these characters go, but it's time for Marty, Dean, Sam, and Ruby to find their way along in the world of fanfiction without me.


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